Winds Not Seen
by starburst1237
Summary: Very rarely, one person will brush against us and like the wind drifting across a river, they will create a ripple that will grow and grow until we are consumed and trapped by their presence...
1. Prologue

**Winds Not Seen**

_Prologue_

Lily was dreaming again.

Logically, she knew she was lying on the crisp sheets of the dormitory room, surrounded by four others who never noticed her. But her mind didn't care, transporting through time to her memories that replayed over and over again, taunting and jeering at her. She didn't dream often but when she did, they were always haunted with ghosts of the past that fought and clashed with each other, swords rebounding together and echoing through the recesses of her mind. The dreams brought back the memories of the shock, the anger, and then the breaking of the dam. The sobs, the pleads, the barks of sharp commands – they were all there, and more that her mind had come up with in its spare time.

What was it that Marianna had said last week in the Common Room? Ah yes, Lily remembered now. She remembered with clarity every single word of the conversation, even in her sleep.

"Honestly, Sirius, it isn't very healthy to be cooped up in front of the fire on a gorgeous spring day like this! Plus, it's the first time it's stopped raining for _months_. You should come take a walk with me." That would be Marianna. She had herself draped over the back of the loveseat that Sirius Black was occupying, long legs crossed and luscious brown curls falling around her face sexily.

It was common knowledge that Black and Marianna were shagging partners, and the two never denied it anyways. Why should they, when they were both so popular and beautiful? It didn't matter that they were dating other people – they both needed that rush of adrenaline that only fucking could bring.

Lily would've loved to hate Marianna, but she couldn't. It wasn't fair of her. Her mother had always told her to _"love thy enemy"._ But this dream wasn't about her mother, no matter how her heart bled for her.

Marianna wasn't very smart, but one couldn't really hold that against her. If you were one of the most popular and gorgeous girls in the school, you wouldn't want to spend all your time on schoolwork either. She was proportioned like a model and tried to be nice to Lily, even if it was only to get on her good side and get some make-up charms out of her. Lily never bothered telling her that she would never spend time learning charms for make-up.

But she wasn't the only beautiful half of the twisted relationship – Black could certainly hold his own. Those large, adoring, puppy-dog eyes had willed more than one girl into his bed during the week. Long, sleek hair fell onto his face and partly obscured his sharp profile; the strong nose and the defined jaw certainly helped him woo all women, no matter the age. But what really lured one into him was his smile – a slow, half-smirk that would reveal his blinding teeth slowly, one by one.

"Honestly, Marianna, it isn't very healthy to completely disregard your homework every day," mimicked Black.

James Potter snorted. "What's this I hear? Padfoot preaching about homework? Get me a basin, Moony; I think I'm going to be sick."

But Black was doing actually doing work today. Amazingly, he was smart when he applied himself to the correct aspects of education, but that rarely occurred. However, with O.W.L.'s coming up, no fifth year could afford to take time out of their studying to take a walk around the lake.

"What about you, Marianna? It doesn't look like you've taken time to do _any_ studying. How do you expect to pass the O.W.L.'s?" Peter Pettigrew sniffed, fingers stained black from copying notes from his friends. A fairly short and pudgy student with watery blue eyes, he seemed to fade into the group if one wasn't thinking clearly enough about the Marauders. He gave the appearance of both a young and helpless boy and an old man that's been through too much already from the pre-mature wrinkles of his forehead and the balding of his thin, blonde hair.

Marianna threw back her head and laughed, exposing the wonderful cream-colored column of her slim throat. Chortling, she managed, "Oh Peter, don't be so naïve. When you're beautiful like I am, you don't need to study to get things done." Oh yes, Marianna knew she was beautiful and flaunted it left and right.

Peter moved uncomfortably in his high-backed armchair, as if suddenly realizing he was in the same room as her and became very worried in her presence.

Perhaps Marianna was right – if you were beautiful, you didn't need to study. But you also didn't need to go after all those trivial things if you were James Potter. He was constantly surrounded by girls; his supply of women never seemed to run out. All he needed to do was lift one eyebrow and run a hand through his tousled hair, and schoolgirls would come chasing after him. Currently, he seemed to be enjoying the lap actions of a blonde seated on his thighs, moving around with clear intent.

"She's right, Pete," he agreed. "Keep studying like that and you'll turn into Remus – or worse, Evans."

His surrounding friends and girls all gave shouts of laughter, because what else would be expected when James Potter made a joke – even if it wasn't funny?

"She's such a stuffy bitch, isn't she? I mean, I'm always trying to talk to her, but all she does is stand around with a stupid day-dreaming expression on her ugly mug!" Marianna screeched.

"It's a wonder she has any friends!" Peter joined in.

James raised his eyebrows in surprise. "What are you talking about, mate? Evans hasn't got any friends at all! It's a wonder Dumbledore hasn't kicked her out yet. She's made absolutely no contributions in anyway whatsoever to anything that goes on in this school. Seriously, Wormtail, you actually thought that there were people who could stand her, much less be her friends?"

And there was more laughter – cruel, cold and calculating snickers that reverberated through her body as she sat on the stairs, listening to the taunts.

Remus Lupin stood up. Lily had always admired him. Although they were never really officially "friends", they were certainly acquaintances and had spoken to each other more than once. She had developed a habit of keeping a hand next to his elbow when they walked together; he always so pale and fragile that it was only natural that she supply a helping hand in case he collapsed suddenly in the corridors, which he looked quite capable of doing. It was a good thing that he didn't have the dark hair that his two other friends had, or else he'd look even more insipid than he did already with his own light brown tresses.

"She has better grades than you do, James, so I wouldn't be insulting her. Especially because she's a prefect and might actually have feelings." He said this softly with no sense of annoyance at James – it was spoken instead with a tone that he'd honed over the years to use with James Potter when his ego got way too out of line. He swept past his friends, with their eyes cast downwards and trying to hide the smirks on their faces, and made his way to the boy's dorms.

Lily sighed and the dream changed, discomfort and fear mixed in one through one little action. Hands fisted at white sheets and small feet shifted restlessly, tangling the horror into a continuous running through her mind. Eyes moved underneath tightly shut lids, trying to escape from….from…..who?

It had been so long since she had last seen him that there were no more features to place on a blank face and nothing except the rough feeling of callused hands from gripping the beer bottle too long slapping against flesh and trapping her among the brutal assaults. That, and the snarls and swears that tumbled out of a drunken mouth and hit her just as hard. What was that nursery saying? _Sticks and stones can break my bones but words will never hurt me._

Bullshit. That was before one grew up and started living in a world where simple words could penetrate deep within and maliciously twisted your soul and punched your buttons. She had done her best to block out the feelings and shards of abuse…but the effects would remain forever.

"_Whore."_

"_Bitch."_

"_Fucking Alan now, eh? Little girls like you shouldn't be doing that with the neighbor's son. You need to be punished, Lily."_

And always, always the one that would stay with her even after she died and went to…heaven? Or hell? Was there even anywhere else after life? Well, they'd remain with her even after she was six feet under as a corpse sitting alone in a lonely box.

"_It's your fault, you know. You're fault that she's not here anymore."_


	2. Stains

**Chapter One: Stains**

Remus slowly walked up the stairs, stopping just long enough to hear the conversation below start up again in a whirlwind of new gossip straining to reach untouched ears. The door to the fifth year's boys dormitory was located far up in Gryffindor tower, and he frowned as he began to make the long journey.

He climbed with a slight limp and grimace. The full moon had only been three days ago, and he had just been released from an overly-fussy nurse this morning. He couldn't complain, of course. Lonely nights were suddenly made into gallivanting hours that made even James and Sirius, two of the most energetic boys he had met, tired and droopy the next morning ever since they decided to join in with his transformations at the beginning of the year.

How surprised he was when they announced their accomplishments of becoming animagi. Since getting bitten, he had lived in a secluded and lost world, life quickly teaching him not to expect much – if anything – from anyone, even his parents. As much as Ma and Pa wanted to help him, no reason, not even being their son, could erase the revulsion in their eyes when they saw him transform. Those burning looks, no matter how hard they had tried to hide them, imprinted and molded themselves to form a wrap of depression around him.

The moon – ah, that round, bright orb that rose and fell every night, staring at him like a dark eye, beckoning him to come in and get closer, closer, closer and give in to his animal instincts. All others considered the moon as a source of magic and energy. It was the Great Mother of the Egyptians. Its morality was above that of the Sun God to the Romans, the ancients he was named for. It was supposed to rule life and death. And all it did for him was to awaken the monster deep inside, goading it and prodding it to come out and tear to pieces anything that walked.

He never told anyone. Anyone. He was warned not to, by both his parents and Dumbledore multiple times. He heeded their advice. The only way he could guarantee his secret stay that way, he convinced himself, was to befriend no one. Never get close to anyone or else they'll find out your secret and you'll be on the next train home to a dark cellar, full of blood stains that refused to come off, chains that rattled your bones, and always, always deep scratches and memories of long and painful nights, spinning, spinning, around him.

But James and Sirius figured it out. They always did, in the end. Remus could feel it in his blood as they got nearer and nearer to his loathed secret. He began avoiding them, trying to take his meals in the hospital wings and always being the last one to classes….but you could never outwit them. Remus skirted around and tried to direct their attention elsewhere, while secretly, in the very bottom of his soul, his heart willed for them to find out. Willed for them to know and to help and not to push him away. But he always squashed that thought and concentrated on other things, trivial things. He began spending ten minutes a day just knotting his red-and-gold stripped tie. And when they finally reached the end of the path, how relieved he was that his happiest wish had come true. James and Sirius would never push him away – they were friends, Marauders, bound together as blood brothers. The whisper of doubt inside his head was ignored, forgotten, but it remained somewhere in the corners of his brain, plotting out what its next step would be.

It had seized its chance now. Somewhere along the road, James and Sirius had turned from "cute" to "drop dead sexy." Their attention from the female gender was overwhelming, and far be it from Remus to stop that. But James and Sirius reciprocated that interest, and more. While they spent adventurous nights with hordes of girls, Remus waited quietly in the dormitory for them, for them to come back and tell the obligated story about who they had shagged that night and to slowly chip away another part of his spirit. Sometimes he played Exploding Snap with Peter and sometimes he did homework, but most of the time he pondered. And sometimes, sometimes when he was feeling brave, he'd go into the Unknown area, where he could think about what life would be like if he hadn't been in that dark forest at that time. But he never stayed there too long. Remus was smart enough to know that if he ever let himself be dragged into that area, he could never come out and spend all his days dreaming.

Why didn't any girls like him? Why was it always James and Sirius, and sometimes even Peter, but never Remus?

_You know why. You just don't want to admit it._

There was the voice again, that familiar sibilant whisper talking in his ears as it always did, of horrors and taunts, and above all, the truth. It spoke, as it always did, of the darkness hidden beneath the shadow of the moon, of trusts forsaken and oaths broken, of betrayal and faithlessness and the things that beasts did to fellow men, and death. The sweet stench of blood, its hot stickiness as it slid between his fingers, dripping, dripping, drying, and flaking upon his feverish skin, then the hot gush as it slipped and slithered on his lips and tongue and down his parched throat and the heat as it settled in the pits of his belly, burning hot, molten fire running through his sluggish veins. He would then gag against the rising bile while the Voice laughed and mocked him.

That's not the reason why, he argued back firmly.

_Of course it is. It's because you're a killer. A beast. A savage. A WEREWOLF._

STOP! he silently screamed, clapping his hands around his ears.

And for a moment, he had hidden it again. But it would come out, Remus knew it would. All he had done was make it stronger, and now it would begin planning again, plotting little deaths that would soon amount to something big….something catastrophic.

He had reached the door and he kicked it open, stumbling in and shaking from the aftermath of the ordeal. He collapsed on the unmade bed, and all he saw were stag antlers and a broken shack and the bittersweet painting of death swirling around, around, around, and Remus feels like he's drowning.

_BAM_.

* * *

Lily came out of Sleep's warm arms immediately, snapping straight up in her bed and gasping. Gasp. Gasp. Gasp. Breathe, Lily, remember to breathe. She placed her hand on her heart and willed it to stop thumping so loudly in the echoing room. When she took her hand off, it was sticky and warm. Her white nightgown was soaked with perspiration that ran down her back and between her breasts that had seeped onto her white sheets, turning them a darker color in the pale moonlight. The backs of her knees, her arms, her hands – they were all weeping with sweat. Her hair clung to her cheeks and forehead and became a helmet to protect her from locked away memories that had decided to take a joy ride through her mind again.

And, oh no – she could feel a strange lump growing in her throat and pushed against her will and her eyes stinging with some sort of strange emotion. No, no – don't cry Lily, crying's for babies who can't take care of themselves. Crying's for girls who don't have any sense of pride – only stupid people like you show weakness.

She couldn't help the choked sob and pant that escaped this time in a loud cough. Lily's eyes grew wide and she slapped a hand onto her traitorous mouth and listened intently.

There was no sound, save for the slight breeze rustling through dark trees in the Forbidden Forest and the slight snoring of Marianna, who had always denied it when her friends told her about her "horrible and atrocious, really dahling, you must find a spell for that" habit.

She hadn't meant for that to happen – no, definitely not. But…those words were so familiar, and somewhere in the veiled corners of her brain, she remembered…

…eyes narrowed in anger….

….lips tightened with annoyance….

….a harsh slap across the cheek….

…. _"Don't you dare cry, bitch. Crying's for girls who don't have any sense of pride. Only stupid people like you show weakness. Come over here."_

Lily shook her head harshly. No, that was not an area she wanted to visit today. Maybe some other day, if they ever found a therapist dim enough to take her as a patient. She imagined herself lying down on an expensive couch moaning about the horrors of life while an unconcerned shrink writing down notes. She giggled, glad to find something to laugh about after that. Images like that weren't real life – they were just side effects of listening to girls in her dormitory talk about sex books.

Oh, she had forgotten about her sheets. She couldn't possibly sleep in them now – she'd catch a cold for sure and then spend the rest of the day in bed with no one to take notes for her in class. Miserably, she thought about her meager options. She could take the risk and sleep in her sheets, but they had Double Charms and she really didn't want to miss that. She could go ask the house elves if they could change her sheets, but then she realized with disappointment that she had no idea where the house elves slept. No doubt James Potter or Sirius Black would know, but she'd rather take the chance of being sick than going to them for help. Especially now, at – and here she glanced at her watch – four o'clock in the morning. In fact, they probably wouldn't even be in their dormitories and would probably be off shagging some girl in some broom closet. Oh well. Perhaps she should just change into her uniform and read for a while…yes, that was what she would do.

Lily drew back the curtains from her four-poster bed and quietly stepped onto the cold floors. There were still black scuff marks on the floor, a souvenir from their third year when Marianna and her friends were all driven by greed, a common mark of young teenage years. _That's MY lip-gloss you're wearing…MY clothes are in that drawer, YOUR'S are in the other one…._

Marianna had decided to mark their territory once and for all. "After all," she argued. "It's only the correct choice. I mean, who knows what's going to happen if we keep on fighting between our belongings? This will prevent our friendship from breaking." So she had gotten out Widdershin's Permastay Marker – great for all surfaces! – and had proceeded to trace out five wobbly separations. "There," she announced, standing up, face flushed. "Now we know exactly where our boundaries lie."

Whether that method would've been successful or not in keeping their "friendship from breaking", Lily never knew. Only a week after the lines had been put in place, McGonagall had scheduled a surprise dormitory cleaning. Marianna had proudly displayed their room to her. "It's the perfect idea, it really is," she exclaimed. "I don't see why any one hasn't done it yet."

McGonagall's mouth opened in horror and her eyes flew out. "_What _in Merlin's name do you girls think you're doing! This castle has been here for over five-hundred years! Godric Gryffindor himself built this room! This – this," she choked out, "This is destruction of school property! I have never seen such terrible behavior in all my time at Hogwarts!"

"All five of you," she pointed a shaking finger at group of third year girls who were fish-eyed with gaped mouths, "Detention! Tonight! Eight o'clock, scrubbing out these _atrocious_ marks!"

Eight o'clock came, and by the time the clock struck eleven, the girls were still scrubbing away at the first line and not making any progress. The stain stayed on stubbornly, refusing to come off. When McGonagall came back to check on them, she was shocked. "Three hours and you haven't accomplished anything. Why, you must be the most disagreeable group girls _ever_!" She shook her head, annoyed. Whipping out her wand, she muttered, "_Scourgify!_"

There was no difference. The lines stayed clear as day ….but, there – if you looked closely, they had turned a slightly lighter shade of black. The girls stared at McGonagall. Their teacher – one of the most powerful witches in this school – couldn't get rid of these nuisances. McGonagall looked traumatized. The poor, poor lady. At least the Marauders' pranks were easily scrubbed off with a few hours of detention, but this – coming from a group of behaved third year girls, was unheard of.

The next morning, the five girls had descended to the Great Hall only to find a large banner posted up by the doors declaring: Widdershin's Permastay Marker is completely banned from the premises! Any student found in possession of one will be given detention immediately! Of course, this just encouraged the Marauders even more to try out this product.

Lily smiled wryly at the memory. It was a surprise the universe hadn't collapsed yet from the actions of that group yet. She remembered when Marianna and she used to –

– wait. She wasn't supposed to be thinking about that, was she?

No, she definitely wasn't. So, what was she thinking of before?

Although the other girls now complained about the lines, she adored them. They were a mark of childish innocence, when life was impetuous and free and fairies carried hope to the edges of the earth. When pain was a scraped knee from a clumsy fall. When sadness was running out of candy before Halloween came again.

There were always some stains – imperfections and aberrations of beauty – that nothing could ever remove. But with time, gentle handling, and a contrite heart, sometimes even stains could make an object even more exquisite.

* * *

The snoring was really getting to Lily. She wasn't being particularly fussy, but it was very hard to concentrate on Charles Dickens with that sound drilling into your ear. She had already stood it for about two hours, but she knew she was at her cracking point when she felt her face involuntarily twitch at every snore. Sitting on her bed in a pleated skirt and crisp oxford shirt, she weighed her choices. Going into the Common Room and running the risk of meeting someone, or staying back here and listening to her roommates sleep?

Moans and breathless gasps suddenly interrupted Lily's reverie. "Oh Charles, mmm…..yes, right there – yes, YES!" She blanched. Alright, that was it. Going downstairs to the Common Room was a risk she was much more willing to take than going insane from listening to her roommates' sex dreams.

She grabbed her book and a soft duvet and slid on her leather shoes. She made her way to the clustered doorway and opened the door quietly and slipped out into the hall. _Clunk clunk clunk_. Her heeled shoes made echoes that rang through the empty staircase. They then found themselves muffled by the thick shag rug of the dim light of the Common Room. The fire was slowly dying out, and Lily prodded the wood a little bit to keep it going. She spotted the couch that Black was sitting on from her dream and hesitantly made her way over.

She could count the number of times she had ever sat on the couch with the fingers from her right finger. Gradually, she lowered herself onto the cushions and soon sunk into the comfort of the support. She was a five-year-old again, dwarfed by huge mountains of cushion on both sides of her. Wrapping her blanket around her frail shoulders, she leafed through _Great Expectations_ and began reading on page 235.

"_Great Expectations_, huh? I remember I used to admire Pip greatly when I was a child," came a disembodied voice from her left.

Lily jumped, dropped the book, and snapped her head over violently and she looked in the direction where the comment had come from. When she saw the person, she relaxed visibly and picked up her book.

"Hello, Remus. You gave me quite a scare. What are you doing down here at this time?"

The pale boy shifted uncomfortably in his armchair. "Er…I had trouble sleeping tonight." And it was true, for Remus had been kept up by the incessant voice whispering sweet nothings. "Although I could ask you the same question."

Now it was Lily's turn to be uncomfortable. "Yeah, I…uh….remembered I still had to do McGonagall's essay in the middle of the night, and now I can't sleep."

Both of them, knowing the other had lied, chose not to comment and wondered if their secret was still theirs to keep.

Hastily, Lily changed the topic. "You admired Pip? Hmm…I always thought of him as very greedy and shifty. Maybe I didn't hate him, but I didn't admire him either."

The boy cocked his head, allowing her to go ahead.

"Well, Pip himself is not always honest, and I caught him in several obvious contradictions between his truth and fantasies. His obsession with Estella was crazy, and it brought about his downfall."

Remus laughed. "What a typical comment for you to make, Lily. Always seeing the bad in people, eh?"

The redhead grinned, a rare occurrence. "I do not! Take that back!"

"Alright, alright."

Lily drummed her fingers together and stared at the fire. Reds, golds, oranges, and browns that mixed and twisted around each other to form a strand of blaze that shone brightly. After a while, her eyes began to water and she turned her head towards her companion.

"So, Dickens? I didn't know you read Muggle literature, Remus."

"Neither did I. Dickens was a wizard, Lily. I do believe he attended Hogwarts during the eighteen hundreds, right before his career in the Muggle word went off. A true Ravenclaw, I've heard."

Lily groaned and closed her eyes. "Aw, Remus, you've just ruined his works for me! I had always taken a fancy to Dickens, being amazed that a Muggle like him could produce such eloquent works. Now that I know he was a wizard, it's not that big of an accomplishment anymore!"

Remus was amused at her innocence. How far from the truth he was though. Lily had never been innocent in any form of her life. "That's okay. I promise I won't tell you how Jules Verne, Emily Bronte, Jane Austen, and Mark Twain were all magical too. Oops! Did that just slip out of my mouth?" And he threw up his arms from the pillows pelting down at him.

"I cannot believe you, Remus Lupin!"

Abruptly echoing footsteps one again graced the steps and someone else was coming.

"Oy! Remus, no orgies allowed in the Common Room!" came James Potter's arrogant voice from the staircase.

The mood of the room changed suddenly. No longer was the carefree, easy banter of acquaintances here – it had been replaced by a shift of tension and apprehension.

The tall, dark boy descended from the stone stairs and padded his way towards Remus and Lily. He was dressed in his uniform already and Lily realized with a shock that it was already breakfast time. The sun was rising outside, casting in early morning mists into the Common Room.

She cleared her throat nervously, not being able to look either James or Remus in the eye. She licked her unexpectedly dry lips and tried to ignore her parched throat. "Well, I suppose it's time for me to go upstairs and brush my teeth." Her foot played against the threads of the deep crimson carpet. "I, uh, guess I'll see you later in Charms, Remus."

And she turned away and fled up the stairs before seeing Remus' uncertain nod and bewildered look that graced his smooth features.

Lily walked quickly to the Great Hall, head cast down and eyes concentrated on the slapping of shoes against the cold stone floor. The Great Hall was still quiet with morning buzz and a few students yawning and rubbing their sleepy eyes and downing cups of coffee. The normally loud and boisterous crowd of Marauders and their female groupies were absent as she made her way down to the very end of Gryffindor table and took her seat, the same one she had sat in as a first year welcomed to the house and where she had been ever since. She propped her Transfiguration book against the pumpkin juice pitcher and proceeded to load up her plate with toast and eggs. She mentally berated herself as her fingers found page 593, _Chapter Sixteen: Side Effects of Human Transfiguration_. Why she decided to go down to the Common Room was beyond her thinking again. Why couldn't she just have stayed in her noisy dormitory and study for their Transfiguration quiz today instead of going downstairs and having a lovely, but somewhat interrupted conversation with Remus Lupin?

Well, of course Remus wouldn't pay attention to her anymore after James Potter came downstairs. He was his friend, and she was just….just an acquaintance. Yes, just an acquaintance, not really a friend.

But if Remus wasn't her friend, then who was? Certainly no one else from her year in Gryffindor, and definitely not from Slytherin. And Hufflepuff, well, she could only remember one class they had ever had together, and that were their first year flying lessons, which Lily, wincing, really wouldn't have preferred to think about right now. That only left Ravenclaws…it'd only be logical that she'd have friends in that house from their very similar working habits. In fact, she still couldn't fathom why the Sorting Hat placed her in Gryffindor, even when she had begged and pleaded to be put into Ravenclaw instead of Gryffindor. Those impulsive and rash people would surely trample her to death. But the Hat had refused and been very insistent on Gryffindor. Lily, just a timid eleven-year-old with no understanding of magic, decided to listen to the Hat, for if it could make those wonderful lyrics about the houses, then it should surely be able to choose the right one for her.

But she didn't have any friends in Ravenclaw. She supposed that with her shy personality and their quiet attitudes, nothing was ever done it terms of even inciting a new friendship. And her heart suddenly tightened and she remembered the Olden days when she had been surrounded by a gaggle of girls whenever she went somewhere and then going to a broken home….

Concentrate, Lily! Hurry up and eat your breakfast and stop thinking about stupid things that just waste your time. Haste, haste. Read your Transfiguration book. Make sure you have all your homework. Get to class on time. And for Merlin's sake, stop trying to remember the feel of a butterfly's wings across your cheeks.


	3. Shadows

**Chapter Two: Shadows**

James Potter liked to consider himself a man not easily surprised. In fact, this morning, he had woken up at the astonishing early time of 6:34 a.m. by himself, a far cry from his usual time of 7:51 a.m. with Peter dumping water over his head. He had no idea why this morning was so particularly different from the rest, but nonetheless, he went along with it.

The dormitory was dark with a sliver of morning light shining through the high windows and casting smoky shadows into deep crevices. Night greeted Morning in a sigh of lake waves and breaths of new winds. Oh yes, and the consistent chirping of birds that pecked into his mind. He rolled over on his back and folded his arms beneath his head, tousling up his dark hair and stared into the dim canopy of his four-poster bed. It was definitely different not waking up with a girl. There was no blonde (and the occasionally dark but never red – he hated redheads) hair flowing over his arms and no backside spooning into him. Actually, the bed almost felt lonely without them. Almost.

Different, but not in a bad way. Different, in a way that he remembered what it felt like a few years ago to do this every day. It was sort of nice, visiting back old ways before girls. But he knew it wouldn't last long. He had chosen his path, going along the currents of his river. Besides, rivers weren't made to swim upstream in. At least, not for James Potter.

Stretching and yawning, he made his way out of bed and into the bathroom, stopping briefly to pick up a pair of slacks, a tie, and a dress shirt from the floor that didn't have any noticeable stains on them. But this morning, James Potter did indeed surprise himself. This morning, he made a ballet of rinsing out his mouth and putting on his clothes, normal processes – cycles – that he went through every day. All because he didn't want to think again about what would happen if he broke the rotation once and shocked someone. Even his pranks were predictable. Not exactly what each prank would be, but knowing that at least once every week, some Slytherin would be humiliated in front of everyone in the Great Hall and James Potter and his group of friends would look on laughing while some floozy clutched his arm and giggled. Only none of them would ever let the smiles reach their hollow eyes.

Just to make things complete, he actually began searching for that….that thing….what was it called again?

Ah, yes! A hairbrush behind the cupboard and wedged between the back side of the sink and the tiled wall. He ran through the motions, but to his dismay, his hair still stayed the same – jumpy and wild-like and all over the place…a bit like Sirius actually…

As he made his way downstairs into the Common Room, giggling and thumping reached his ears and he wondered if he was the only one that night that didn't get it on with some girl. He stopped on the last few steps and he saw…

Remus….

with Lily Evans….

James was so surprised that he almost choked for a moment, but caught himself just in time. Although, judging by the looks of the situation, the two wouldn't have noticed anything. _At least they're not shagging_, he reminded himself. No, but what Lily Evans was doing was just about as close to shagging as she was probably going to get. She had smothered herself over one of his best friends. Truth be told, she did have a pillow in her hand and was smacking it repeatedly against Remus, but that was irrelevant.

He cleared his throat and tried to regain his composure. "Oy! Remus, no orgies allowed in the Common Room!"

What happened next, he decided to tell himself, was none of his fault. Lily Evans dropped the pillow like it was made of scalding bricks and straightened up immediately and stepped approximately ten kilometers away from Remus. James decided to ignore the dangerously crimson blush that crawled up from her neck to her cheeks and focused instead on his friend. Remus was also embarrassed, and it registered briefly in James' mind that this was the first time he'd seen Remus blush like that.

A sound like a fish was dying came from his left, and James realized that it was Lily Evans trying to clear her throat. "Well, I suppose it's time for me to go upstairs and brush my teeth. I, uh, guess I'll see you later in Transfiguration, Remus."

And then she turned and ran up the stairs, ignoring Remus' cautious nod.

"So," James began, flopping over the couch, "Lily Evans, eh? I always knew you liked the quiet types Remus, but not silent ones."

And it was scary, but for a moment when Remus' eyes flashed angrily towards him, James felt like Remus had the upper hand. "Don't you dare say anything to her, James. You stay away from her – she doesn't need someone like you in her life." He ran up the stairs, presumably to chase after Evans.

James, for the first time in his life, was left alone in the Gryffindor Common Room. Shrugging it off and trying to look unconcerned, he sat up in the couch and stared at the fire, eerily reminiscent of Evans' hair.

He didn't say to Remus what he really thought, that he's finally happy that Remus has found a girl that pays attention to him and not his two other dark friends. That he thinks Remus needs to relax more but hopes he stays the way he is because James looks up to Remus' quiet and careful personality, the way when he finds a girl, he looks at her like how he looked when he first saw Hogwarts and when he first saw James and Sirius transform, and James wishes that he was like Remus instead of being the predictable one that looks at girls like they're contestants at a beauty pageant. The way when Remus talks to you, he looks you straight in the eyes and you can't help but feel compelled to listen to whatever this serious boy has to say next. The way he could charm the pants off any girl in this school from listening to James and Sirius talk all the time, but never chooses to do so. The way that Remus made James feel – a mix of shame and knowing that he could do better and a sense of determination to change, which James never carried through.

In Muggle Studies, they have been learning about natural disasters in the Muggle world. If you focus on sandbagging the beachhead, James decides, you can ignore the tsunami that's approaching.

Try it any other way, and you'll go crazy.

* * *

Peter was sick.

Sick of life.

Sick of living in the shadows all the time, sick of running around doing little favors for everyone, sick of being the dumb one, and especially sick of James and Sirius.

Those two….whatever happened to the Marauders? Four _equal_ friends, bound together for life. Their duty to create havoc and mess around with girls. Peter snorted. It wasn't the Marauders anymore. It was James and Sirius ruling over Remus and Peter. _Peter go get the map….Peter go get the invisibility cloak….no, Peter you can't come with us on this one….you're too clumsy, you'll wake up all the Slytherins…._

Who made sure everyone got into the Whomping Willow safely? Who visited Remus in the Hospital Wing to bring him notes that he had painstakingly taken during all the classes, even Potions, because he knew that James and Sirius would never do something like that. Who comforted James about Sirius snatching away some girl that he had had his eye on? Who made sure that at least _some_ of Sirius' clothes got into the wash once a week?

Peter. Peter the rat, the disgusting, sniveling tag-along who was only there because they felt sorry for him. _Sorry_ for him. If James and Sirius were going to have late-night gossip sessions like some air headed teenage girls, then they'd better learn to keep their voices down.

Next time, they'd be sorry that they'd ever considered him a nuisance. Yes, next time…he had given everything to them and all they'd done was screw him over. Well, that wouldn't be happening again, would it?

His trembling hands dropped a small vial. Swearing, he bent over and picked it up, cursing at the broken shards that lay among the ruin. Carefully, he gathered a small pinch of white powder and snorted it up his nose. As always, he moaned in relief as it sizzled and burned against the roof of his mouth and his mind. Then there was a white glare of light somewhere and everything faded out.

* * *

"Alright, everyone put down their quills and look up!"

Lily dropped her quill and massaged her sore fingers. Taking five pages worth of notes was not an easy feat, but McGonagall made no slack preparing her fifth years for their O.W.L.s.

"As you all know, your O.W.L.s are coming up _very_ soon – yes, I am talking to you too, Mr. Potter, and I need to stress again how important it is that you consider this your utmost priority." She surveyed the classroom, taking in everything with her beady, hawk-like eyes. "To make sure you are ready, I have decided to assign one last project before testing, and –,"she held up her hands, silencing the groans that had started in a wave, "it is for _your_ benefit. You must come up with a presentation on the importance of these exams. I will give you two weeks. And I don't want to hear anything relating to how they are _not_ important – trust me, your grade will reflect that. You will be working in pairs."

This seemed to satisfy a few students, who began twisting around in their seats waving to their friends and mouthing deals.

"Partner?" James turned to Sirius and offered his hand and a predictable smile.

"Why James, I don't know. I was going to work with Snape and revel in his god-like intelligence and looks, but since I've taken pity on you and know that you will most likely not be able to find anyone else willing to stand your annoying personality, I guess I'll just have to go with you."

Remus turned, a wry look on his face and strained to find Peter…

….but he was not here….

….well, that was mighty strange. When was the last time Peter missed class? In fact, Peter had the best record out of all the Marauders of going to class….

Well, now who could he work with as a partner? Unconsciously, his eyes sought out Lily Evans sitting in the front row…perhaps, but wasn't she a little uncomfortable this morning around him? _Well_, he convinced himself, _that was James' doing_. She was perfectly fine until the little arrogant pig decided to show up.

Lily groaned silently at the mention of partners. She would much rather do this alone…no one would want to be her partner and with her luck, she'd probably end up with McGonagall assigning her to be partners with some Mudblood-hating Slytherin. She sighed, resigned, and prepared herself to go up to the front desk and ask the professor if she could work alone for just this one project. Suddenly, a gentle hand fell on her shoulder.

She whirled around and bumped her nose into Remus Lupin's sweater-clad chest. "Remus!" she exclaimed, hand flying up to her nose.

Remus chuckled. "I'm sorry, Lily, I really didn't come over here to hurt your nose."

"It's alright Remus."

Both of them paused, not knowing what to say next.

"Er…well, Remus, what exactly are you here for then?" Lily asked, trying to break the ice.

"Oh yes! Um…I was wondering if you already had a partner for the project?..."

Well, that's funny, Lily smiled. As if I would have a partner. Still, at least he was raised with manners. Unlike some certain hooligans she could mention that were currently slapping high fives and pretending to be Snape…

"Well, I was just wondering….if you already have a partner that's fine." Remus started to walk away.

Lily snapped her eyes away from the two boys. "Oh no, Remus, I don't….but I would love to be partners with you."

Remus grinned, one that seemed to spread a trickle of light into his deep eyes.

Lily's brow furrowed. "That is what you came over for, isn't it? Oh, I'm sorry Remus, I assumed that you wanted to be partners with me and came over to ask, but obviously you didn't. Well, I can't really blame you, no one really wants to work with me, I mean, I was just about to ask McGonagall to work by myself…"

Remus jumped. "No Lily, that was exactly what I came over to do…but if you wanted to work on the project by yourself, go ahead."

"No really, I'd love to work with you."

"You sure? I mean, I totally understand it if you want to ask if you wanted to work by yourself."

"No _really_, I would love to work with you."

"Alright then."

Lily giggled. "This is really stupid…we've just spent two minutes arguing on something we both wanted to do."

"Yeah, it is stupid, isn't it?" Remus brushed some light hair away from his eyes and concentrated on Lily. "Lily, why did you say that no one wanted to work with you?"

"Hmm? I didn't say that, did I? Well, it's true though."

"C'mon, Lily…you're pretty _and_ you're smart. You're already in the minority here."

Lily blushed. "You flatter me, Remus. I'm definitely not pretty….smart I can argue, but that's my only defense."

"Not pretty?" Remus tried to look scandalized but failed and ended up laughing.

Lily chuckled too. "See? Even you don't even agree and you're the one who brought up the subject."

"That's not true; I was just trying to be one of those shampoo opera stars that we were watching in Muggle Studies the other day."

"Shampoo opera stars?" Lily raised an eyebrow. "I think you mean _soap_ opera stars..."

Remus blushed and scratched his neck. "Shampoo, soap – they're both cleaning products. Anyways, back on the subject." He leaned in close and whispered in Lily's ear, taking in the slightly tangerine aroma she spread. "I think your eyes are bloody gorgeous."

Lily giggled and stepped back. "No way."

"Yeah! They're like…emeralds on a sunny day waiting for the queen to own them and pluck them away."

A horrified look crossed Lily's face. "That was slightly….soap opera-ish slash morbid of you, Remus. I mean, the emeralds on a sunny day part – totally one of those cheesy lines from the show, but the part about the queen plucking them away? You sound like my eyes are about to be scooped out from the queen because I committed an act of treason or something."

"Well, they are still very beautiful," Remus added.

Lily blushed and looked into Remus' eyes. "Hey, Mr. Lupin! You're not exactly lacking in the department of eye colors either. I didn't know you had –," she took a step closer and looked up, "violet eyes! Wow, that's amazing!"

Now it was Remus' turn to blush. "Yeah, well….it wasn't so awesome back when I was a kid. Imagine being the only one in your class with violet eyes…a perfect opportunity for seven-year-olds to start teasing."

Lily had to physically restrain her hand from reaching up to brush away a lock of hair that had fallen into his eyes, a deep shade of indigo that drew one in from his otherwise light looks.

"They're absolutely lovely now. You know what? We'll form our own club. We'll call it….PSCEC." People had begun filing out the door now, and Lily bent down to retrieve her books.

Remus snorted. "PSCEC?"

Lily took in a deep breath and linked her arm in Remus' strong one. Remus almost stumbled and a look of surprise crossed his sweet face. "Prefects with Strange Colored Eyes Club, of course."

And, still linking arms and laughing, they walked out of the door and down to lunch, neither one realizing that this was the first time that they had walked out the door with someone else.

Lily happily made her way down to her end of the table, her mind swimming with the conversation she just had. Remus Lupin had just spent half of Transfiguration talking with her! Remus Lupin, the adorable boy who hated peas and double-knotted his shoelaces!

She skipped over to the bench and sat down, grabbing a biscuit and piling her plate with noodles and sauce. Just as she had taken her first sip of pumpkin juice though, someone sat down across from her with enough force to knock the goblet right out of her hands.

Lily groaned as the liquid spread onto her school uniform. Of course something would have to come and ruin this, wouldn't it? Murphy's Law wouldn't allow it otherwise. She grabbed a handful of napkins and began blotting out the stains, praying that she wouldn't have to skip lunch to get changed. In her determination, she had forgotten about the person who interrupted her until they spoke out.

"So, Lily, I saw you talking to Remus today in Transfiguration," came a silky-smooth voice.

Lily looked up cautiously from her skirt and into the cat-like eyes of Marianna. "Yes, well, we were only discussing about what we wanted to do for our project."

Marianna looked at her for a moment. One of her friends spoke up. "_You're_ Remus Lupin's partner?"

Lily nodded her head dumbly. Marianna giggled. "You'll have to excuse Kate for a moment here, darling. You see, she's had her eyes on Lupin for a while now….what is it, three days?" She looked at Kate for guidance and she agreed eagerly. Marianna continued. "You see, Lily…three days is quite a long time to spend over a guy…and, well, being girls, it's only fair that we don't take advantage of the situations we're in and try to sabotage others. You'll be fair, won't you, Lily? Besides," she caught Lily's glance at Remus, "I really hate to break it to you, Lily…but I think Remus also likes Kate. I mean, he was going to be her partner first, but she was already partners with me…and I don't exactly think you're his type, Lily."

Lily shook her head vehemently. "We're not going out."

Marianna patted her head like a dog. "Well, as long as we understand each other, Lily, then we'll be fine. I'll see you in Charms then, Lily? And try to get that rogue charm to me by tomorrow, alright? I've got a date with Mr. Black." She smirked one last time and made her way to the Marauders.

Lily took in a deep breath and stared at her hands, still moving continuously and robotically over her skirt. Sighing, she gathered up her books and tried to disregard the lump growing in her throat and made her way to Gryffindor tower. She had prayed that the stain could be blotted out, but that was just foolish thinking on her part.

**Solarism: **Thank you so much for helping me with my story. Hope you enjoy your new camera and that Tim doesn't abuse it too badly :)

**FallenFlower**: Hugs and kisses for inspiring me to post up this chapter! Love your story and have a good time at the concert!

**CrEsCeNt Mo0n19**Really appreciate the reviews for the Remus!thought shot chapter. I spent quite some time working on it and it's nice to see that you like it.

**The ORIGINAL Meathead: **Lots of predictions there, young Trelawney:) Thanks for the reviews.

**Fairy-Dust 888:** You have no idea how big the smile on my face was when I read your reviews. I hope you had a Merry Christmas and thanks for wishing me one.

Also thanks to **godswake, chickensoup3, firewalker32, Hello? mary, lils03, Brooke Monroe, **and** candence and pathos **for your very inspiring reviews and helping this lost author feel better about her story!


	4. Letters

**Chapter Three: Letters**

If Remus had to choose one thing about himself that he respected the most (not that anyone would ask him to), he would have a hard time choosing.

He wasn't like James or Sirius, who had enough qualities they admired about themselves that they felt the need to inform the general population about it every day. Rather, Remus thought himself quite a bland bloke with nothing that stood out. He considered himself a shadow, and he quite liked being one.

Shadows always held a high reverence for him. They weren't composed of all dark – no, then there would be no shadow to distinguish. But they weren't all light either. They were just the right amount of both, blended together by an artist's hand to create a smudge behind the main figure. Add too much shade, the shadow fades into the darkness. Add too much light, they become part of the light themselves.

The average person never notices shadows. They concentrate on the first and foremost shape, the one that draws their eyes in and make them gasp in beauty. Rarely does someone ignore or look past the first shape and notice a darker, more mysterious one slinking behind it, with no choice but to follow the first one wherever it went. But the more perceptive people – they notice the sad second-best outline of the first person, and they wonder how the shadow feels, why it's chosen to hide behind another and not make its presence outwardly known. And then they realize that the shadow has no choice; they have to follow something brighter and purer, because essentially, that is what creates them.

But the one thing Remus hated about shadows was that they did whatever their others did – if the object waves, they do too. If the object kisses a girl of his fancy, they do too, albeit a much sadder one. Shadow kisses are interesting. While the solid, physical objects, the ones that can love or choose not to love revel in the bodily pleasure of such an action, two shadows kissing are merely two lonely smoky figures, trying to imitate a warmth-filled one, trying to claim something out of their reach. If the object seduces young girls with smirks and lines about the beauty of their eyes, the shadow does too.

He just had to make that comment, didn't he? Out of all the things he ever wanted to tell someone that had waited inside him, emotions pent-up and frustrated, the one thing he had to say to get on her good side had to be about her eyes. It was sleazy and cheap and it reminded him of manipulative remarks made by Sirius to get a girl into his bed.

He had to go the James and Sirius path, always using lines like that. He didn't deserve her friendship, if all it took to get on her good side was a remark about her eyes.

The harsh sounds of footsteps pitter-pattering down the stone stairs to the Great Hall for dinner jolted Remus out of his reverie all of a sudden and caused him to become slightly unfocused for a moment. By the time the stomping had passed and he tried to recollect his thoughts again, he could only manage to hold onto a sliver of the frustrations he was feeling before.

An empty dormitory was one of Remus's favorite time of their room. He liked the feeling he got knowing that everything was motion stopped suddenly, matching the personalities perfectly of all the boys who lived in the room. Their pranks, their plots, their explosions, even the tiniest breathes that they took as they slept created a wrinkle into the air and molded and shaped it, like a potter would to clay. They carved and smoothed over and continually did it again and again to make sure the room was just the way they wanted.

One could always tell which boy belonged to which bed. As a first year, James Potter was just as confident and ready to face the world as he was today. As the first years crawled their way up the stairs from a long day, James Potter bounded up, attacking them with enthusiasm and babbling his mouth off about the awesome stories his father had shared with him before they left. He flung open the door, upsetting a nightstand beside a desk and jumped onto the first bed on the right, laying spread-eagle and proclaiming it to be his. "It's perfect," he sighed, eyes gleaming. "Father had this bed when he was at Hogwarts, and it's in the ideal location. See, the window's right above me, so I can watch the Quidditch practices and the door's closest too, so I'm the first one someone sees."

The other boys filed in a little more slowly, feeling as if they were lifting cement blocks instead of feet. Sirius Black, a sullen looking boy, came in and immediately headed towards the far corner of the room, getting on the bed and then drawing his curtains around him forcefully. He hadn't spoken a word to anyone during this entire time, whereas James had been shooting his mouth off introducing himself to all the new first years….save for the Slytherins.

Peter and Remus, the last two, filed in the door together. Remus had felt more of a connection with Peter than with any of the other boys. James was too happy for him – too pure and untouched and confident. Sirius was moody and angry, someone Remus felt that he could in no way connect to him and try to reach out and express that he had the same feelings too, without getting blown up at. So that left Peter, small, mousy, timid Peter, who Remus felt like he could relate too, for weren't the two just both outcasts in the end?

Peter dropped his sweater on the bed next to James, looking up at him with wide, adoring eyes, for even as a first year, James Potter was a good-looking boy. "James," he breathed, "tell me about yourself. What do you like to do?" And James, eager for a chance to talk about himself again, immediately dropped whatever he was doing and came over next to Peter.

And that was when Remus realized that Peter was not like him at all, Peter wanted success and glory and fame and knowing important people, while Remus wanted to be…a shadow. Yes, a lonely shadow, that sounded fine to him.

So with only one choice for him, he ended up with the bed between Peter and Sirius, staring morosely at his pleated pants and expensive sweater, and wondered what he was about to accomplish in this world.

Five years later, the beds had finally adjusted to their owners. James's bed had wrinkled sheets and sloppy pillows that were put together quickly in his definition of "making a bed". His prized broom, the Airborne 3000, was placed on one of the bedposts. That was the only place of his area that wasn't messy – this was a sacred area, and James needed to make sure that every boy knew that. From second year on (after he had gotten the broom), James would dutifully bring out the polishing kit every night, no matter how tired he was or how much homework was assigned or what pretty girl was waiting for him and spend an hour bending over the broomstick, wiping carefully and inspecting for anything that might harm the it or make it go awry in the wind.

The rest of his area was filled with parchment and joke products. James's mind, seemingly never off, was always doing something. He always carried something in his hands, whether it was a snitch, a quill, or a Gobstone, twirling it and playing with it, making it appear and reappear. His parchment was filled with clever ideas and notes passed around during class, observations he would make and scribble it down quickly and shove it into his pocket. Usually when he washed his pants, (which wasn't quite often) he would find soggy remains of the material sticking to the inside of his pockets.

Sirius's bed in the far corner worked out well for him. It was in a dark area, secluded and was the last place the sunlight would reach in the day. During the nights, it provided a perfect cover for the girls he seemed so fond of bringing up.

As messy as Sirius was with everything else, his bed was perfectly made everyday, with hospital corners and whatnot. He folded his clothes neatly, storing them away and always made sure there was no mess left over. For all Remus's life, he couldn't figure out why Sirius was so adamant about maintaining this controlled area while he let the rest of his life go.

Peter had started off making sure that everything was absolutely bloody perfect, but when he saw that James never cared about making his bed, James never cared about washing his clothes, James never cared about cleaning underneath his bed, Peter didn't either. In an uncanny way, Peter's bed was almost the exact replica of James's. However, nothing seemed to be able to bring in James's personality of braveness and wholesomeness into Peter's area. Peter's bed, however imposing he tried to make it look, always hinted at the subtle touches of weakness and flexibility.

The clock chimed seven o'clock, and Remus looked up in shock. He had been up here pondering for two hours already. Groaning, he wondered why he had spent so much time on this when he could've been working on the massive amount of homework the teachers had decided to dump on them. The others would surely be up soon from dinner and questioning why he wasn't there.

As he opened his knapsack to find a spare piece of parchment and a quill, he wondered if there is anyone in this school who looks at shadows instead of James.

* * *

"OOF!"

If you had walked into the empty girl's dormitory on a Saturday afternoon, you would've been greeted with a series of grunts and then a painful sounding thump with a string of swear words following quickly after. Had you parted your way through the clothes littering the floor and rounded the first bed, you would've found Lily Evans on her backside rubbing her wounds with a pile of old, crumbling tomes in front of her.

The desk in front of her was aged and chipped, the kind that seem to be universal to all schools older than fifty years old, which Hogwarts most definitely was. In all the magical spells and potions invented, none could even beat old age, or perhaps no one had wanted to waste time on something trivial like that. One look at the surface, and the years that came before her could easily be seen. Brandings scratched onto the once polished maple exterior with trivial readings like: Mary Beth was here. I love Paul. Ryan is a dickhead.

It stood on two fine legs of rickety drawers, adorned with rattling handrails that were stuck between hanging on by their last hinge and falling off whenever someone would yank on it next. Once-sharp edges of the sides now seemed to droop, worn and rounded by years of smoothing.

Sometimes when Lily was bent over writing, the small lamp casting a spotlight upon her area, she liked to stop for a while and look at the wood, the beautiful wood that created this structure. There were maple strips laid next to one another to form a whole. But, if one was to look closely, they began to see differences in the whole. The first obvious one being the borders between the strips, but then the spirals and curves and twists in the actual wood itself began jumping out. Sometimes the spirals would leap from one strip to another and continue to one pattern. They were each like individual rivers, and when there was a knot in the wood, Lily liked to think it a boat, and it was parting the waters as it reached its destination to…wherever it was going. There was one though, that Lily's eyes always caught. It rested near the edge of the table further in, right before the lamp. In fact, it was so close to the lamp that the light cast by it never reached that strip and traveled past it, ignoring it to form the highlight on the other strips, the ones that were in the area that people used. She didn't really know why that one interested her. In fact, it was pretty generic-looking in wood terms. Nonetheless, who was she to argue with her mind?

Briefly glance over at the desk, and it looked like they were all a whole, one equal thing to be used together and were exactly the same, bound next to one another. But let your eyes stick onto the surface for a while, and one could see the different snakes that jumped out, the ones that started moving around and winding and coiling to trap the others, and they became separate identities, separate predators that fought and hunt for themselves and themselves only.

On that particular day, the homework just so asked for information long forgotten by busy adolescent minds from their first year at Hogwarts. It wasn't usually like Lily to forget something. Most of the time, she needed naught books or notes to aid her. She was surprised today then, when she realized that no where in the deep recesses of her mind could she gather up the length of the Hippogriff's tail.

So here she was, a pile of old, unused and forgotten books in front of her that hadn't felt the touch of the pad of a finger running quickly along its neat and precise words for almost the better part of a decade. She got up from her area and shifted through the books, looking for _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them. _

Oh, there were many lost memories in the pile, her first friends at Hogwarts, ones that she had neglected after she used them and they provided her with the information she needed. Yes, there was _Magical Theory, _oh, and _A History of Magic_, she remembered them all. But where was _Fantastic Beasts_? Frowning, she pawed deeper and deeper into the pile, moving books over to uncover other ones and there was….

Oh…..

…..

She hadn't expected to see this book….

In fact, this book was probably the one that escaped from her mind the most.

Hands surprisingly steady, she reached into the heart of the pile and pulled out a dusty spiral notebook. It had a periwinkle blue cover with little strays of marks mixed into it, almost giving it the appearance of waves. In the middle, protected by a flimsy plastic cover, was a pressed flower, the pink and green from it gone for quite a while now, petals dried and crumbling. She thought back to when she had seen it displayed so prominently in the store, beyond all the rest of the notebooks, dulled in color and looks next to this one. She had reached into her pocket, didn't she, praying silently and quickly that the coins she had would be enough to pay for this one treasure, this one thing of hers.

Lily slowly opened the cover for the first time in five years, hands running briefly and quickly over the surface, trying to once again regain the feeling of trust she had put into this. The inside cover was adorned with the bubble letters of nine-year-old Lily Evans, reading out clearly and painstakingly "My Diary".

The first entry was written in her younger handwriting, still surprisingly and extremely detailed and neat and _tiny_.

_Dear Diary,_

_Today is July 31st. This is my first time writing in you. A lot of the popular girls in my school have diaries, so I'm going to have one too now. Wait, hold on._

_STOP! **DO NOT READ** PAST THIS POINT! THIS MEANS YOU, PETUNIA! IF YOU CHOOSE TO CONTINUE, ALTHOUGH I HAVE ALREADY WARNED YOU, I PROMISE YOU WILL SUFFER HORRIBLE CONSEQUENCES. SO **STOP!**_

_I just needed to make sure nobody will read what I will write in here. I guess because I don't really have a best friend at school right now, you'll be my stand-in until I find one. _

Lily smiled absentmindedly as she read through the entry. It was so innocent and simple, and in these times of growing unsettlement, she lived for moments like those. Running a hand through her hair, she flipped forward a couple of pages until she found another entry.

_Dear Diary,_

_Today is September 5th. When I prayed yesterday, I asked God if he could give me yellow hair instead of red. I don't really like my hair, and sometimes boys tease me about it. Please help me get yellow hair. _

_Actually, I would like a mother more than yellow hair. I mean, I really want yellow hair, but if I had a mother, I bet that I would have even more fun. _

_Mother left when I was really small and I think that's when Father started getting really sad all the time. We kept moving from places to places. The one thing that I can remember about all my homes was that they kept getting smaller and smaller. Sometimes Father brought home ladies from his work. Father always told me that those were the nights I had to go to bed early, because kids under 12 couldn't "entertain company". _

_Oh well. If I could get yellow hair or a mother, that'd be fine._

Lily was no longer smiling. Instead, her brow was furrowed deeply and the corners of her mouth pulled downwards in confusion. What was going on here? She flipped furiously further into the diary, looking for another entry.

_Dear Diary,_

_Today is November 13th. Something strange happened today, but Father says it's normal, so I shouldn't be worried._

_Father came into my room today, and I was reading on my bed. He started talking to me about Mother, and how wonderful of a woman she was. This next part is kind of icky, but then he started talking about her body and how beautiful she was. While he was talking, he started touching me in weird places. He said that it was normal, and that everyone's family did it. Then he kissed me, but not on the cheek like I see Chelsea's father do to her. He kissed me on my mouth. I don't know why though._

_It makes me wonder if Chelsea's father did the same thing to her in her own room. _

The book suddenly became scalding hot, too hot for Lily to hold again, too hot for her to continue on. It thudded to the floor suddenly, pages flapping out and spreading out on the cold floor. Through trembling fingers, Lily peered through the room, gasping and wondering what the hell these dreams and diary entries were really about.

* * *

_Sweetheart,_

_It's been a while since you've gone. I've sent Petunia off to boarding school, as you wished me to. Lily continues to stay at home with me, although I have been trying to get her going the same path as her sister._

_Do you know that I haven't changed anything in the room since that day? That every night before I lay my head down on the couch and briefly close my eyes, but never fall asleep, that I walk into our room?_

_The first thing I do is look at the door, look at the scratches in there and remember how they got there. Do you remember? _

_On the nightstand still sits your copy of Romeo and Juliet and my sports magazine. Do you remember that I used to argue with you all the time that instead of reading some old English writing, that you should set that book down and concentrate on me? I tried so hard to distract you, to please you, but I could never seem to tear you apart from your precious readings. You'll be happy to know that Petunia has, of course, taken the same talent. _

_The mirror has been gathering dust lately, but I haven't the heart to wash it off. Do you know that if I try very hard, I look into that surface and sometimes I can see you standing there next to me, rubbing my shoulders and telling me to come to bed? Do you think that if I wash off all the dust, I'll still be able to see that? _

_Sometimes I open the drawers and look at your side. Do you remember, when we first moved in, how I begged you to let us use the same drawers, but you insisted on using the left side and giving the right side to me? How I was so adamant on using the same sock drawer but you said that I'd stink up your area? I miss your humor too. _

_I've moved all of my clothes out, but yours still remain. Did you know that you were wearing my favorite pair of black knickers and bras that day? That they were never returned to me, and everything in there is made of linen. _

_Afterwards, I looked in your old suitcase, the one with the taped handle, and found the exact same outfit you wore on our first date? _

_Big floppy sun hat. Those large sunglasses that made you look like an oldies movie star. Your favorite sundress in the blue and pink streaked flower print. They don't smell like you did that day either, a mix of vanilla and citrus and the faint tinge of detergent. The smell of dust and mold has finally affected it, I suppose. _

_Do you remember how much you loved your red hair? I loved it too, remember? I used to tell you that it was fire in the shade, fire that an artist had captured and used to complete you. If I ever lost you in the crowd of faceless others (which I would never do), I could spot you immediately, bright hair shining like a beacon. _

_The shower still has strands of your hair on the floor. The expensive shampoo that you absolutely insisted on purchasing for maintenance of your "tresses" still sits there. Lily asked me once if she could use your shampoo, and I got so mad at her that I almost lost it. I almost destroyed her right there. _

_The bed linens are still fresh from the laundry, and they've retained their sharp creases over the years. The pillows…they still smell like you, did you know that? Do you know that every night, before I even think about dinner for anyone else or doing the laundry or sleeping, I try to capture your essence again, using a pitiful pillow trying to bring back the memory of a woman so strong that I should've known from the beginning it was useless to try to bring back something so powerful with something so common. _

_The wall-paper is still the ugly sea green that you hated so. I remember, you wanted lilies on your walls. I tried to change it, I really did. But it was the one thing that I remember you would tease me so much about. You got this half-smile on your face, sort of a smirk with hints of love and amusement behind it and always, always radiating how sexy you were. _

_Lily reminds me so much of you. So much that I must ask for your forgiveness._

_I didn't mean to sink down so low after this happened. The alcohol, the others, even Lily was just a distraction, a pathetic grown man trying to chase after something that had long floated off into the wind and beyond where his grasp would ever reach. _

_I'm so sorry I hurt Lily. But I can't seem to stop myself. She's like a drug, in the way that she looks eerily reminiscent of you. Even her toes look like yours. I want to stop. I want you to help me. _

_Unfortunately, you'll never get this letter. I'll throw it into the fire again after I finish the last letter and then it'll be consumed again, like all the others before it. _

_So because you can't ever help me, I'll continue in this. And I know that every time afterwards, I'll weep once again into my hands and wonder where my life has gone. But I can't control it anymore. I feel like a freight train, bound to run and run and run, speeding down lost tracks into the middle of nowhere. But I cannot stop with Lily. For if I do, I may just have to kill her._

* * *

Hi. Really sorry this update took so long. I guess I wasn't really too prepared and totally forgot over two weeks the INSANE amount of homework from school.

I'm going to thank each and every single one of you guys for reviewing, but I just really want to get this out right now, so there will be no review responses for this chapter. Sorry!

And now this is going to sound strange, but I definitely still appreciate your reviews, and I would still appreciate it this time if you reviewed, because this chapter took AGES to write and I spent a while thinking of what I was going to write and where I would take the story. Thanks!


	5. Echo

**Chapter Four: Echo**

The halls of Hogwarts are lined with ancient stone, candle lanterns, and secrets. Each crack in the foundation is filled with a tale of remorse, of how it began as a hairline fracture and its growth into a dark and deep slash.

When Lily strode down these corridors, she took diminutive steps, head cast down and arms usually wrapped around two or three tomes. She walked slowly, sometimes straying a hand across the walls, occasionally snagging on a crack. When she was alone, she'd peer into the tiny dark alleys. Of course she knew that they just went into the stone and on the other side, there'd be a classroom of sorts. But recently, she's been wondering if they actually lead into a different universe altogether, which was why Filch was always so stuffy about filling the cracks – he didn't want anyone to go off into a happier place.

And then she'd scoff at herself and wonder when she became a three-year-old again.

Yet the one thing she could make herself believe was that the halls knew about her. She heard them talking to her, whispering hushed bittersweet nothings into the emptiness when she walked down, echoes bouncing off wall after wall. When she closed her eyes, she could hear her footsteps magnify into ten, imagining a group of friends around her, maybe giggling about nothing at all. Other times, her throat wrenching with sobs, the halls would cry with her and surround her, protecting her with their strength and –

"Lily."

She stopped, along with the echoes. The voice was a quiet one, not quite a tenor, not yet a bass.

"Yes, Remus?"

He shifted his weight to his left foot, loosening up his tie with the other hand. "Er, we need to meet for McGonagall's project."

Lily nodded. "I know, I was going to look for you, but I had absolutely no idea where you were. I tried looking around, but to no avail, unfortunately."

"Did you ask James or Sirius?"

She blushed a slight red. "Well…no, I didn't really feel like bothering them about our project. Anyways, it doesn't matter now, you've found me already. So, when are you free?"

"Hold on." He knelt down and placed his knapsack on the floor, unzipping it and rummaging around. He pulled out old bits of parchment that looked like it had gone through the wash a couple of times, a few Gobblestones, some Zonko's products, the Potions essay assigned to them two days ago, and then a handful of what looked like furry rat hair. "Don't ask," he grinned, catching Lily's confused glance.

"Aha! Here it is. James tried to steal it, but I happen to have a security charm on it."

It was a leather-bound calendar, and when he flipped to the right month, Lily was shocked to find it actually used. She sat down next to him on the stone floor.

"I didn't know boys also used calendars. I thought it was only girls who did because…well, because…yeah, you know."

Now it was Remus's turn to blush. "Well, I don't suffer from _that _ailment, in case you're wondering."

"Thank Merlin, or else I'd be questioning your gender and reporting you to the nurse." Lily smiled and looked down on his calendar. "Let's see, are you free on Mondays and Wednesdays for the next three weeks? We can meet then."

"Um, well there's one Wednesday next next week when I can't meet, but other than that, everything's fine." He scratched his neck uncomfortably.

"That's fine." Glancing down, Lily saw that indeed, that Wednesday was circled several times in a silver pen. "Got a hot date?" she joked.

"Hmm?" Remus looked up, startled. "Why would you say that?" he asked, a tinge too suspiciously.

She raised her eyebrows and pointed down. "Well, you'd have to be blind not to realize that there's obviously something happening on that day."

Remus coughed, reaching over with a hand to slam the book shut, and stuffed it back into his knapsack. "Well, if we're done here, I'll see you next Monday in the Library then." He hitched up his backpack and almost ran down the hall, calling out a "See you later, Lily" over his disappearing shoulder.

Lily, brow furrowed in puzzlement, listened to his flustered footsteps run out. Why was that Wednesday so particularly special to him? Knowing the kind of shy person that Remus was, it probably _was_ a hot date, and he was just too bashful to admit it next to him womanizing best friends. This was so like her, always concentrating on trivial things that had no want of her concern. _Let it go_, she told herself. _You've got your own share of secrets_.

* * *

Sirius's room at home (if you could call it that) was filled with stars.

Charts, drawings, notebooks, and of course, the ever-standing telescope, all bursting full of the heavens. Whenever his mother or brother came into his room, he'd hastily shove everything under his bed and put an Obscuring Charm on his telescope.

It wasn't that Astronomy was a bad subject. It was a Hogwarts subject that they had to take, after all. It was just…well, Muggles did the same thing. They too watched the movements of the vast expanse above them, questioning why and how. If his family ever found out that he actually wasn't spending his time in there studying up future Death Eater techniques, it'd be hell to pay, even when he was named after a star.

A few years ago, around the time he was six or seven, his mother had sneakily walked in on Sirius standing immobile next to his window, gazing out. "Stupid boy," she had admonished. "Why aren't you studying on the books I bought for you yesterday?"

He glanced down at the volumes strewn on the floor. Even from his faraway position, he could read the titles of some. _The Art of Power: How to Wield it and Control Others_. _Why Pure is Just Better_. _The Difference Between Us and Them_.

Sirius had snorted silently, thinking that over his dead body would his mother finally peel open his eyes and force him to look inside them. "Mother," he had argued, still thinking that he could win an argument with her, "I'm named after a star. I believe that I should know about my origins. Studying the skies would help me understood where I come from."

She had slapped him upside the head. "You are a _Black_, and that is where you come from. And as a Black, it is your duty to listen to your parents! Do not try to question where you come from ever again!"

Of course, he would continue to do so. How could he ever give in to her iron grip?

Late at night, when his brother's snores were consistent and the two separate doors of his parent's bedrooms finally closed, he'd crawl out of bed and gaze up. When he was feeling daring, he'd crawl out through his window and lay down on the wet grass beneath, staining his pajamas but feeling the happiest he could be in that wretched area.

If he stared long enough, he could block out the screams and shouts nearby, the shattering of glass and bodies thrown against the thin walls. He no longer was a horrid _Black_, he was out and independent, and he could make all the choices he wanted. The stars took him someplace far, far away in another galaxy. For a moment, he could connect with them, talk to them, and reach out, as far as his arms could stretch, trying desperately to grab onto a shooting meteor and fly with it to somewhere new.

He once tried to count how many stars there were in the entire sky. It was in the dead of winter, and he had stayed out there for five hours, until he could no longer feel his feet or fingers and the mists of breath began freezing on his face.

Seven thousand, three hundred fifty-two.

That was how far he had gotten. The next day, he woke up with a fever and a sore throat. Amidst his mother's growls at being so vulnerable to disease (although this was the first time he'd been sick in two years), he stared up at the dark canopy of his bed and told himself that if he had counted all the way to ten thousand, some angel from above would've swooped down and wrapped her shimmering wings around him and flew with him up and up until he finally did reach the homes of his beloved stars.

Other times, he'd pretend that he was adopted. Oh, one look at Regulas and the rest of his family told him that physically, he was one hundred percent genetically related to them. But he'd close his eyes tightly, hands clasped over his ears to block out his father's dinner guests and imagine that somewhere, a mother and father were sobbing, clutching onto to each other, wondering when they'd get their son back. "I'm right here," he would whisper. "Come get me. I'll be waiting near the front door. I'll be ready, I promise."

And even though he knew that they would never come, his irrationality then clouded over his mind and at midnight, he found himself at the front door, grabbing a suitcase filled with his star observations and waiting, waiting, waiting.

They never came for him.

That was the last time that he allowed himself to think about being saved.

The other boys in the dormitory always wondered why during the dark of the night, a whisper would come from Sirius's bed, mumbles of angels and stars filling the impenetrable difference between the four.

* * *

"Then in 1439, right after the historical Goblin Wars of 1431, Gindledook decided that the problem had gone far enough and formed the Order of the Risen, guarding against the next great battle. Incidentally, three weeks after it was first established, an army of…"

Extreme. This was extreme boredom.

Binns' voice droned through the class, a dry, hacking lullaby. Although it was not yet April, the classroom seemed to be stifling. James Potter would even take the freezing Potions dungeons over this

Everything seemed to move a little more sluggishly in this classroom. Students even _blinked _slower. His own body felt like it had turned into molasses overnight, and he could not even bother to move a hand to loosen the tie around his neck. It felt like a nook, about to choke him.

_It would suck_, he thought, _to die from heatstroke in school._

"Prongs."

He tried to ignore it, feeling too lazy and hot to turn his head around and glance back.

"Prongs," the voice hissed again.

James managed a pathetic grunt, but kept his body slack and his head forward.

"PRONGS!"

Professor Binns looked up, jolted from his filibuster. "Mr. Blane, why are you going about my classroom shouting random nonsense?"

Sirius sat back into his seat, folding his hands and replacing the look of frustration on his face with one of demureness. "My apologies for bothering you, Professor. I had only wanted to ask whether or not Gindledook actually used _tongs_ to decapitate his victims, or was it with his bare fingers?"

"Neither, Mr. Block. If you had been listening to my lecture earlier, you would've known that Gindledook used elven knives for the job. Now, continuing on to the 1441 Rebellion…"

The note had appeared suddenly before James, resting on top of his History of Magic textbook and his doodled notes. Curious at the loopy handwriting with his name in hearts, he finally gained enough strength to lift up his arms and open the note.

_So, you're too lazy to turn around and talk to your best mate, but can still open a love note?_

**_Don't be stupid Sirius. You know that girls are more important than you on any day. In fact, if there was no such thing as girls, _you _wouldn't be here right now, would you?_**

_You really consider my mother a girl?_

_**She was pretty hot when she was younger…**_

…

…

_I think I'm going to be sick. _

**_Well, if she wasn't a girl, then did you have two _male_ parents or what? _**

_I could have, for all you know!_

_**Give up. You're not going to win this one. **_

_Am too!_

_**What did you need to tell me?**_

_Er…forget it. _

_**Aw, you can't leave me hanging. I'm going to be in suspense for the rest of the day.**_

_**Sirius? **_

_Fine, fine. If you really want to know, I just wanted to ask you if you were gay or not. You know, being the dutiful MALE best friend and checking that our relationship is still the same._

…

_**Merlin. Sirius, have you been smoking illegal substances again? I hate it when your judgment is more impaired than usual. **_

_Well, you were staring at me kind of strangely in the shower yesterday. I know that we have a close friendship, but there are limits…_

_**I was NOT staring at you strangely! In fact, I was not staring at you at all! **_

_Oh no? Then what were you staring at? The tiles right behind me? Good excuse, James…_

_**As a matter of fact, I was staring at the tiles right behind you. I heard that someone made a peephole in there last week, and I wanted to know if Amber Tymerland was looking through. **_

_Well, if she was looking, she would've seen my solid arse. Anyways, this is evading the question. You still haven't answered if you're gay! _

The bell rang suddenly, and another History class passed by.

"I'm not gay! I'm NOT!" James shouted to Sirius.

Amber Tymlerland glanced back as she made her way out the door. "That you're not, James. Definitely not."

James grinned at Sirius, clapping him on the back. "See you later, mate," he called out as he dashed out after Amber.

Sirius, a frown on his face, watched James's disappearing back. How much was James hiding within that note? It felt good for a moment, to be able to banter back and forth effortlessly, before these dual personalities were pushed onto them.

For a brief flash, he had to resist the urge to go chasing up to James and slam him against a wall and hiss to him, "What is wrong with you recently? You spend half your time brooding around in the dormitory, and you can _think_ that I don't notice it, but I do."

He knows that there is something big growing in James, something growing at an alarming rate. He can see the swirls of black in who he thought was previously pure white.

"You've got two special people living within you," he whispered to the empty classroom. "One when you're convincing the world that there's an everlasting light shining on you and another when you're trying to convince yourself that there's an everlasting light shining within you. You think that I don't understand your problems, but I do. And I would appreciate it if just for a moment, we could talk about it again, like we used to, late-night sleepovers leading into dawn while talking about what the Quidditch team would be like. How much different can Jimmy Potter and James Potter be now?"

He wants to be able to shout out to James, share with him his tales of sorrow too. Shit, they'd be like two teenage girls, moping around after a breakup, eating chocolates like they were going out of style tomorrow and gabbing until the world ended. Most of all, he wants to be able to tell James about himself, about these past memories that seem to be grudging up his life for the second time.

* * *

_Lately I've been having nightmares, where I'm cut into so many pieces that there isn't enough of me to be put together again._

_After a while, I couldn't remember whole pieces of you, as if part of the punishment was a recollection through a filter that grew hazier with time. On certain Sunday mornings when I dreamed you, I could not picture what your teeth had looked like, or the exact curve of your jaw where it fit in my hand. _

_I used to imagine us sitting down for a drink at a bright little restaurant, maybe one of those specialty coffee shops that have become so popular. I swear I could smell the blended beans and the starch of the white napkins, even the milled soap that you would have used that morning. I was able to see your easy smile, which always seemed to startle its way across your face – your smile, but not your teeth – the way your fingers tapped a light design against the mug. _

_I see us like we're in a movie, sometimes, except I'm not a participant, but someone watching the action. I'm tracing my forefinger down the soft skin on the back of your neck, and there's moonlight the color of cream on the terry-cloth towel you let fall from your body._

_Did you know that I have a picture of you? It's not the one I took; it somehow made its way into my possession months later. You're in the background – someone was photographing something else and you just happened to be there. You're sitting under a tree, wearing a big sweatshirt, and your knees are drawn up to hold a book. But you're not reading, you're looking at the camera. _

_You're slightly blurry in the photo, but I like it anyway. You've got this little knowing smile on your face, like you realized you were going to be in someone else's photo, and you didn't give a damn. That smile – that's what gets me about the picture. It covers so many different things that I think of when I think of you. It shows that you're happy, that you're concentrating, that you're curious. I guess it mostly shows someone I loved. _

_I remember so much about you._

The crinkled corners were first – a molting black spread that ate it up then spread towards the center until it was once again part of the licks of gold and orange flames. They created shadows the reach out and do the work it could not do, to stretch across the room and settle onto a broken man, a glimmer of what he once was.

To the few and cherished who read my story, I apologize. Lots of stuff clouding my mind, and finally sat down and churned this out today. I felt really bad, because it's been a month and a half since my last update, so I ignored everything else and wrote, which is why this chapter may seem a bit messy.

Three review responses, because these people were just too cool(not that everyone else's wasn't appreciated, because they certainly were!). Also, I don't want to turn half the chapter into review response. If you want one and you didn't get one, email me and I promise I'll send you at least a half-page long response.

* * *

**absolutely-morvellous: **EEEE! You have no idea how excited I was that an author actually on my Author Alert reviewed my story. Your thoughtful comments had me smiling the rest of the day.

**Fairy Dust-888: **You are _so_ turning into one of my favorite reviewer. Everything you say makes me elated and write knowing that somewhere out there, there are people who like what I write. Thank you so much!

**FallenFlower: **You rock my socks, babe. Pip + Katy + Linda teasing from the sidelines Where I want to be. :)

Also thanks to **Shading in Grey, bellebuckbeak, May Liza, crescentmo0n19, the ORIGINAL meathead, Hello? Mary, Irish Silhouette, **and** cilverblood. **

You have no idea how much your comments mean to me! hint hint


	6. Dreams

**Chapter Five: Dreams**

There were always two sides to a person. Sometimes more, but usually, only two. One black and one white that would mix into a blend of gray…sometimes heavier on the black, sometimes heavier on the white, but almost never a perfect mix. It wasn't that the black side was the necessary "evil" one – at least not evil in the sense of bad wolves and witches that cackled into the night – but more of a…corrupted one. In the same way that white was never necessary "good", just a blinding pureness that sometimes managed to cover up other stealthier traits. It was strange, but the more perfect a person seemed, the more they probably had an altogether completely different personality while the people who clumsily ran around, adorned with so many cracks that you could not see the whole anymore, were closer to the perfect mix of gray than ever imaginable.

Lily Evans spent the last few years of her childhood developing her black side.

Dreams had always been part of Lily's life. She was actually quite glad that her coming to Hogwarts had not erased them, for as strange as they were, they were the one thing she could hold on to and depend to be _consistent_. During a quick stint in her second year of school, the teacher had told them that dreams were images your mind created during your sleep so you wouldn't be bored. But Lily never agreed with that definition. Dreams were the second door that you could step through, push a button, and be transported to a could have world, a might have. Sometimes the door opened to a dark and murky area, where she strained to see through the haze around her, a sort of symbolic representation that she could never quite understand. At other times, the door opened into a bright area, sort of like those children's shows she'd see in school where the sun was shining, the grass was a green bordering almost on blue, and there was a wise man sitting on top of a hill watching over everyone playing. She could never focus that much on playing with the others though – first because she had never had the experience of interacting with anyone her age, much less physical playing with them. Second because she spent the entire time there nervous that one wrong move would end the life. And thirdly, the little dark voice that had continuously grown bigger within her head that whispered that she could never find perfection, that even in a place like this, there would always be a certain twist to it that would bring it all down.

_When the girl was alone the manikin came again for the third time, and said, "What will you give me if I spin the straw for you this time also?"_

"_I have nothing left that I could give," answered the girl. _

"_Then promise me, if you should become queen, to give me your first child."_

She was never sure if she was dreaming or if finally, it was actually happening to her. She never properly went to sleep, spending her nights turning on one side, then turning back to realize that two hours and passed in between. The images of her dreams sifted through the darkness of her room, so that she'd see bits and pieces, here and there. It was like a jigsaw puzzle, except for that this jigsaw puzzle never had any cracks…just a flowing sort of rhythmic motion that disappeared as soon as the first slants of day reached in. At long last she came up with a phrase that could almost describe it: a liquid fantasy. But like all other sorts of liquids, each one would slowly pour away into a collection bin to be hauled away every morning.

She used to have a reoccurring one that visited her every night, like a good friend who would walk to school with you and share a cookie. As she quickly grew older, it visited less and less, almost becoming hesitant in its approach. Yet just like a long time friend, on certain days when she felt more melancholy than usual and would contemplate the meaning of life once again, it would drop by and ring the doorbell, and Lily would greet it with a smile on her face and a pan of cookies to share. _How pathetic is it_, she'd think to herself from the bench, watching the others swinging on the monkey bars, _that my best friend isn't even something I can properly share with anyone else? Does that make it even more precious? Or just hopeless?_

She loved islands the most. It was fascinating to her that such a secluded area, isolated from the rest of the world by miles of oceans, would be able to thrive and support such an environment. Islands had always held a magical sort of thought for her – from the time she was five, she questioned how plants and animals could possibly live on the area, because how would they get there in the first place? Even after her third year in school, when she learned that islands weren't originally surrounded by oceans, she still held onto her belief in its sheer enchantment. She used to believe that islands were just huge slabs of sand and dirt, pasted together and drifting off into the sea, teetering on the edges of the earth and then plunging down into the stars and infinite blackness. When she found out that they were just the tip top of a larger part hidden by the shadowy green water, it was perfectly fine. She liked to believe that because the actual island was brave enough to emerge from the slow and warm waters and become covered with dry and itchy sand that got everywhere, it was rewarded with a plethora of lush greens and blossoms opened during the entire year and shared with the birds and other species that came from the rainbows that would paint a banner above it.

_The king's son ascended, but instead of finding his dearest Rapunzel, he found the enchantress, who gazed at him with wicked and venomous looks. "Aha," she cried mockingly, "you would fetch your dearest, but the beautiful bird sits no longer singing in the nest. The cat has got it, and will scratch out your eyes as well." _

When she was still living in her moth eaten mattress and hoping for princesses and towers that princes could climb up onto, she lived for these islands. There wasn't much she could live for then; the only things that she could truly hold onto without anyone knowing was what could only be kept inside her. Certain days of the week would find Lily standing outside her sister's room, trying to summon enough courage to walk in and talk to Petunia about what she felt inside. About all the hate and disgust at the way they were living, at the way that an eight-year-old girl had to fend for herself when she wasn't even tall enough to reach the top refrigerator shelves yet. At having a perpetual stickiness about the house that clung to your skin and wouldn't come out of your hair so that the children at school kept their safe distance away from her. When she had grown older and looked back, she wondered many times why her happiest childhood memories were spent crawling into a corner and letting her fingertips trace hidden messages in the dust and blow gently on cobwebs.

There was always the buzz of the telly somewhere in the background, the distinct sound of cheap entertainment that Lily soon learned to block out. There were certain nights when she was eternally grateful for it – it was the one thing that always remained consistent in the household. It was her lullaby, her song, to silence her to sleep at night. There had only been one time when Lily could still recall that the telly had been turned off – the doorbell had rang and there stood three men with shiny badges with their hats in their hands and a crease in their forehead. She vaguely remembered shouts and the three flinging themselves onto her father to hold him back as he screamed with clawed his way out.

Quickly, she learned that no one would be there to pick her up from school every day and through trial and error, found a path home that she followed for the next six years. No one walked with her – Petunia was out an hour earlier, and all the rest of the kids ignored her or worse, yelled hurtful things at her turned back. She had once tried to fight back – before she knew it, four of them had pounced on her and she spent the rest of the school day in the nurse's office. The warm lady had at first tried to contact her father. "Do you have any money, sweetie?" she asked in her soft voice. "Call your father and ask him to pick you up from school."

_Hansel, however, little by little, threw all the crumbs on the path. The woman led the children still deeper into the forest, where they had never in their lives been before._

Lily had kept her head down focused on the tiles. They were blue and white, each one approximately the size of the toe of her shoe. Lined up perfectly, side by side and front and back, they reminded her of soldiers marching nowhere. "Do you need change?" she asked once more.

_Yes, _Lily had thought. _I do need change. _

Everyday she would entertain herself with the thought of an island in her home. That she would peel the door open on its rickety hinges, and that behind it would be an island in the sun. She wanted sunsets that would sink slowly in the faraway waves, trees that she could climb onto and slowly stroke their bark, and above all, flowers. She wanted to spend eternity and a day there, just herself and maybe a book, to watch the slope of the bars of honey-color decrease slowly, sliding up into the bushes, and passing over the green candle-like buds of fresh flowers, up towards the canopy of tree leaves and leave a thick darkness. The island would mute down, soft, pearly colors would take over and the world would curl inwardly for a moment. The waxed lilies would open their wide white flowers glimmering under the light and pricked down from the first stars. Their scent would spill into the air and take possession of the island.

_"But, grandmother, what large hands you have."_

_"The better to hug you with."_

And every time as she opened the door, heart gently hoping, she would be greeted by the same sight of her oaf of a father on the sofa watching the telly and drinking, always drinking. "What you doing 'ere?" he growled, flinching away from her and cuddling his bottle.

"I've just gotten home from school, Father."

"Well, go on! Don't jus' stand there lookin' 'round. Dinner 'as to be cooked."

She had lost her island in the sun forever. And yet…

…perhaps Hogwarts could be her castle in the sky.

* * *

"_Peter, how lovely!"_

"_You really are the best, you know?"_

"_I definitely think that you can be whatever you want to when you grow up."_

"_I'm so proud of you, darling! A wizard, going off to Hogwarts. Congratulations!" _

Even after five years of no longer living with them, the voices never changed. They were always filled with happiness, the embarrassing sort of pride that makes your face red in public. They made him believe that he really was good enough, best enough to touch the sun.

He remembers in Muggle Studies that in certain armies in the world, boot camp was to completely crush the soldiers' morale, then build it up again. It so happened the opposite here – his parents built him up so high, and then Hogwarts tore it down. This time, there was no one left to build him back up.

His body structure had never bothered him before. In grade school, it was still considered cute, and all he needed to do was flash a toothy grin and light up his eyes, and no one cared that much. God. Sometimes the wish to be a child again was so great that it physically hurt. Children didn't beat around the bush – they were in your face, and they weren't afraid to approach topics that normally were shoved into the "back talking" area. Such simple things, things that he continued to take for granted every day, made their day. Peter wanted to feel again what it was like to live in a world where you knew that you could stand on clouds, not fall through them. That grass was just grass, there for you to lie upon, the world's carpet, not about all the pesticides and fertilizers put in. That sunsets blushing pinks and golds were just a painting of the sky, not a reflection of all the pollution. To think that really, if you stretched high enough and jumped with enough energy, your fingertips could brush the sky. As he slowly grew older (perhaps not more mature, but older, nonetheless), he realized that adulthood was just a slow closing in.

_Dear Peter,_

_We know that it's a particularly difficult time right now, what with you studying for your O.W.L.s and no doubt a lot of homework. However, we'd just like to say that we know you'll do fine on everything you try. You've always been able to do anything you've set your heart to, and we know how big your heart is! _

_It's a shame you couldn't visit us this year on Christmas break this year, but maybe you can make it for Easter, right? We're both looking forward very much to seeing you again. _

_We'll keep the letter short because we do know you've got a lot of work to do, but good luck on everything!_

_Love forever, _

_Mum and Dad_

Merlin. Mum and Dad. He'd always tell himself he'd spend more time with them next year, this year he had too much to do. How long had he kept this little charade game up to himself? Every time he thought about his parents at home, poring over his old textbooks to try to grasp a stronger concept of the wizarding world, he felt a twinge of something akin to guilt. But at school, he had better things to do with his time than worry about how his parents were. So he shoved the problem into a little corner in the back of his mind, until the twinge slowly went away. Of course he couldn't come for Easter break this year. That was when the Marauders began their planning sessions for their end-of-the-year prank.

The day Peter turned ten (double-digits day), his grandmother on his mother's side had passed away. He had no idea, only going downstairs and looking around everywhere for his parents, who usually were waiting right at the foot of stairs, singing "Happy Birthday". This year, the usual presents were on the table, the cake was sitting resplendently on top of everything, and the only thing out of place was the phone, off the cradle and dangling helplessly as if from a noose. He had picked it up, only to hear the blunt sound of the dial tone and hung up.

He stopped outside his parent's room, wondering what was going on. They were awake, he could definitely hear that. There was the sound of rustles, and a tiny whimpering. _Mum?_ he thought.

But then the door had swung open on its own accord, and there was his Mum, smiling so brightly it seemed she was trying her best to stretch out her face as much as possible and his Dad with a wry look on his face.

"Happy birthday, dear!" she exclaimed, with Peter barely noticing her voice had cracked in the middle. She flung her arms around him, hiding her face in the crook of his neck. "Goodness, ten years old! Double digits, finally, eh?"

"Yes, Mum."

She pushed him gently down the stairs, chirping joyfully. "…you know, I've spent so much time making your cake this year, I think you're really going to like it. John? Why don't you take Peter downstairs first? I'm just going to change out of this nightgown." She gestured to her ensemble, then tried to smile at his father.

His father had blinked, then suddenly made the connection. "Ah! Yes, of course. Come along now, Peter." He ushered Peter to the stairs, but not before placing a comforting hand on his mother's shoulders. And in that moment when their eyes connected, ten-year-old Peter had a first seat glimpse into parenthood.

It wasn't until almost a month later that his parents came to him with the sad news that Grandmother Anne had passed away in her sleep last night. Peter had sat there on the couch, putting forward his best acting skills and trying to convey the right sadness, all the while wondering what sort of mask parenthood had forced on Mum and Dad.

He suddenly remembered long nights waiting up for Dad to come home from work, only to be tucked into bed by his mother with the news that his father had gotten held up in traffic. Knowing that near midnight, his father would return home, exhausted to the ends of his wits, but proudly holding up a paycheck, most of which would go to his birthday presents this year. He remembered Mum turning a shade of red he had never seen before when she went over to the neighbor's house for tea and someone commented on the state of her fingernails, not painted gaily with reds or pinks but chipped and thick from cooking every meal of the day, laundry, scrubbing, and whatnot. The other women had invited her out to get manicures, but she had politely declined. That night, Peter crawled out of bed and watched as Mum and Dad got out the cash they kept under the bed, and counted it, each pound making a difference. In their hands, they held a list, one that Peter had recognized as his own handwriting, listing down every action figure he had seen on television in the past month, and the faces borne onto his parents when they realized they still did not have enough.

"I'll take the late shift again tomorrow," Dad had said, smoothing down Mum's hair gently.

"I'm so sorry, John. I wish we didn't have to do this. I just…" Her chest heaved with sobs held in by years of practice. "H-Hannah had more of an effect on me than I wanted to. I can't – I can't lose Peter the same way."

And sweet, naïve Peter had actually believed that up until then, that they were higher than the students he saw come to school in old Salvation Army clothing, and that his mother had actually convinced him that most of his presents were from his friends.

He glanced forlornly at his rows of action figures, all lined up neat and tidy. How…so much money….in a burst of anger, he knocked all of them down, taking a satisfaction in watching them tumble down onto the carpet…the only room in the house with carpet…

But even from the floor, their plastic faces glared up at him, accusing and reproachful, a mass produced factory object that knew so much more about poverty than he ever would.

* * *

He walked out of the portrait, no idea where he was heading, only knowing that his hands were grasping parchment and that his feet were steadily moving forward. 

"Peter! What are you doing here?" Lily rounded the corner and peered at him inquisitively.

He stared back. "What are _you _doing here?" he challenged.

Affronted, Lily sniffed. "I happen to be prefect. I've been finishing my rounds. It's past ten o'clock, Peter. You're not supposed to be out."

Something was happening to him. He seemed to have lost all control of his motor functions. "I know," he heard his mouth saying. "I just…I just really need to send this letter."

"It's so important that it can't wait until morning?"

"Yes. It is."

Lily's eyes narrowed. "Are you really just sending a letter?"

He really didn't know what to do now, but his mouth kept going on. "Please, Lily." Oh Merlin, his voice just cracked. "It's…I really need to send this letter."

"Who's it to?"

He paused, then dived forward. If he said it out loud now, it really would be true. "It's for…it's for my Mum and Dad."

Lily's expression softened, and in that moment, she saw finally saw Peter Pettigrew, not Peter-part-of-the-Marauders. "Alright then. Just be quick and come right back."

He unfolded the letter carefully to read it one last time before sending it off with the owl.

_Dear Mum and Dad,_

_Good news – I'm coming home for Easter break! I'm really excited…_

* * *

Right. Well, what can I say? My computer crashed on me for two months. This is my second day online, finally. Thank you so much to you all for still sticking by. And here we go with the reviews! 

**Bellebuckbeak:** You're such a loyal reviewer! And I do hope the "mystery" will be cleared for you later on.

**Gulldara:** You! I haven't heard from you in _ages_. Thank you for technology. And of course, thank you for the very, very cool review.

**The ORIGINAL meathead: **It means a lot to me that you've been here since the prologue. You rock for staying on the boat!

**Stasya: **You told me to focus more on Peter, so here it is! I hope you liked it.

**Bubbles:** Don't worry, I have a feeling you're going to be seeing a lot more of Lily.

**Shading in Grey: **Thanks for the compliment. I appreciate it a lot.

**Irish Silhouette: **How sad is it that I couldn't spell your username on the first try? You have a really interesting name too. Hope my POV-changing continues to be good.

**Mb4:** Well, I didn't update that soon, but I tried!

**Angel-girl-xxx: **Me? Talented? Wow. Thanks for the comment!

**Fairy-Dust 888: **You seriously are one of my favorite reviewers. Man, you are good at giving compliments:)

**Absolutely-morvellous: **Oh man, I feel so guilty, I haven't talked to you in forever. I swear I'll leave lots of comments in your lj soon. And thank you so much.

**Maria: **Yeah, I'll work on that updating "quicker" part a bit.

**Running out of ink: **Wow, I feel so honored to be added to your favorites list. Thanks a bunch!

**Ella: **You left a really sweet comment. I really appreciate it.

**Silverspinner: **Hoo boy. I think your review was longer than my entire chapter! God, thank you for being such an inspiration and hanging out with dorky little me all the time and especially a HUUUGE thanks for the HUUUGE review! That completely made my month.

**Firebringer: **It's nice to hear that you like the different views of each character. I tried to make them not all robots.

**Tweeny-weeny: **That is seriously one of the highest compliments you could ever give me – that my story seems realistic. That's really what I'm shooting for, and I'm so glad you pointed it out.

**Whimsical89: **You compared me to E.E. Cummings. Therefore, you are golden.

**Wwc other guy: **Thank you for pointing out James and Sirius's situation. I will try hard to smooth it out.

**Clyna:** Yes, I definitely am planning on keeping this story going, thanks to people like you! (I sound like a PBS commercial, don't I?)

**Elyra 'Darkwynde' Haliwell**Superb writing? Why thank you then!

See you next time (which, I promise, will be shorter than this time)!


	7. Fire

**Chapter Seven: Fire**

Lily was the kid who jaywalked, played with matches, and talked to strangers. "Did you know," she would whisper to whoever was passing by, "that the porpoise is the secondly most intelligent animal on the planet after man?" Or, "I made Bobby Fitzpatrick's tongue stick to his nose today, and he couldn't get it off."

Looking back, everyone who passed her on the corner of her home must've thought her absolutely crazy, but they smiled benignly anyways, and continued walking past her. So when Petunia finally walked out on all those nights leaving her to deal with their father, she had already gotten used to the sight of someone walking away from her. From the back, everyone looks innocent. From the back, everyone looks the same. It is the face itself; the life experiences hidden in the eyes, the wrinkles around the mouth, the way that they carry themselves, that differentiate one person from another.

When she crossed the streets, she did so freely – she danced in the streets and ran back and forth many times a day just to feel the exhilaration of standing in front of an oncoming car. She would laugh and quickly dart out the way, footwork light and airy.

She often waltzed into hotels, pretending that she was living in the finest suite, nose held up high as the suited workers opened its glass doors for her. She would make her way to the front desk and ask for two boxes of matches. "Mummy and Daddy are trying to light a lot of candles, and they keep running out of matches."

The people at the front desk would once again smile at her and hand over the smooth, white boxes along with a warning. "Be careful with those, young lady. You don't want to hurt yourself."

She would grin back. "I know."

Later, at home, she took one stick after another, striking each one against the grainy, rough side of the box. She would run her fingers quickly over the surface, feeling the heat from friction rising through her fingertips to spread to the rest of her body and marvel that a little strip of red could ignite so much.

She held a romantic affair with fire. She hated how anyone said that her hair was the color of fire. Her hair was just plain red, but fire…fire. It was scarlet and gold and tangerine orange and blush and the tiny hint of crystalline blue all dancing entwined within each other. Her eyes would water as they focused on that hint of brightness in her dull existence, watching it burn down the wood and eating away at everything. She loved how the wood turned black and ashy after the fire passed through it, how it crumbled easily underneath her fingers as she rubbed them against each other. She loved how when she burned paper, the edges curled in, almost protectively, as if trying to protect the body of the paper before that too was erased. She would let the fire burn down, many times scorching her fingers.

Her perfume was smoke and ashes. The blisters that adorned her fingertips became her rings.

In that year, she became a fire nymph.

And for the life of her, she can't remember why she stopped burning. She can't remember why her fire was ever quenched.

---------

"Prongs, pass over some drumsticks."

The Great Hall was alive with dinner.

First, there was the sight of a hundred plates on one table, each winking invitingly to be filled with food. The dishes that lined the long tables like a catwalk for a model showed off the House Elves to their best. And the smell…oh, the smell…it rose in wafts and curls to settle over the heads of the students, from Rubeus Hagrid to the smallest first year. Classes were done for the day, and the students knew it. Dinner was a time for relaxation, to lean back and take a break before delving back into their homework. Remus Lupin privately entertained the thought of him in a maroon bathrobe, propping his feet up on an ottoman with coffee in one hand and a cigar in another, reading the newspaper and listening to the wireless. It was very pleasing.

"….so then I took her to that new little diner next to Honeyduke's and I asked her what she wanted to eat…"

James was retelling his date with Amber Tymlerland to anyone who would listen which, pathetically, was a large number of people.

Down at the other side of the table was the spoken one herself, surrounded with the same gaggle of friends. She seemed like she wasn't aware that she was currently the topic of in-depth discussion with the fifth year males of Gryffindor, yet if you looked closer you could see her eyes shift to James every so often. Privately, she enjoyed her role.

"Moony!" James clapped him on the back. "Look sharp, my boy!"

Remus looked at his face, which seemed to have popped out just under his nose. "I'm older than you, James."

He shrugged. "It's not the logistics that matter anyways. What does matter is the questionable appearance of a fine gentleman like yourself at my weekly Exploding Snap tournament tonight in the dorms. What do you say? Are you in, or are you in?"

"Neither," Remus replied dryly.

James gasped, placing a hand over his heart. "Oy, my palpitations are coming on again! What's the meaning of this 'neither'?"

Remus twisted his noodles three times around his fork before shoving it into his mouth. When he had finished swallowing and thus, guaranteed enough of a space so that James was finally interested, he continued. "What I mean is, I've already got plans."

"Plans!" James crowed. "Plans! Moony, you old hag, why didn't you tell us earlier? Who is she? I might've gone out with her before, and I could tell you what kind of flowers she likes." He finished the last part rather suggestively, referring back to the incident in which involved Remus, his first date with a Ravenclaw, severe allergies to daisies, and an overnight visit to the Hospital Wing.

"Not that sort of plans. I'm meeting Lily in the library to work on McGonagall's project."

James frowned. "Evans?"

"_Lily_."

"Right, whatever. It hurts, Remus, it really does, that you would choose to spend your evening in the library with Miss Hogwarts instead of your old chaps."

Remus turned around, sighing.

"Just kidding, just kidding! Sarcasm, Moony, sarcasm. You should try it sometime. You might lose those premature wrinkles."

"Right, I'll keep that in mind, Prongs. Thanks." He lifted his rucksack from the table and swung it over his shoulder. "With that, I bid you adieu. I'll see you later tonight."

James waved gaily. "Have fun, Moony!" He bounded back to his awaiting crowd, once again on the topic of the spectacular move he had made in last week's match.

Remus smiled. "I will."

---------

Peter hates fire.

He hates how deceiving it is. How from afar, it's bright and merry and crackling happily, but once you get close, it overpowers you. How when you get too close, it feels like the heat is drying out every single drop of liquid comprehension in you, how you end up sitting there for hours staring so intently at the mocking colors that later when you close your eyes, you can still see it on the inside of your eyelids, taunting and teasing you so that your dreams are filled with torches being thrown at you. How when you wake up from these dreams, it's because you're sweating so much that you've absolutely spoiled your bed with the covers tangled in a web around your feet, your entire body sticking to fire.

When he was eight, his mother and father held one of those cheesy family reunions. They all gathered together at a park. There was a beach nearby, and at night, they lit a bonfire and roasted marshmallows. When Peter asked why they weren't doing any sort of wizarding traditions, his mother smiled and ruffled his hair.

"Oh Peter, some things are just much more enjoyable coming from nature, not from magic."

As a child, he loved fire. He doesn't remember running off and jumping waves, nor making sandcastles, nor attacking the picnic table as his other relatives were. He only remembers standing in front of the fire, seeing it twist in and out within itself, a creature trapped in its own existence.

Two of his cousins had suddenly pushed him into the oncoming bonfire.

When he tried to recall the memory, all Peter got was a viewing in slow motion, as if he was the one inside the fire watching himself fall. He saw the surprised expression on his face first – shock at being pushed over so suddenly. Then his eyes twisted and the expression turned into one of horror when he realized that in his direct path was the roaring bonfire. He saw in his own bright blue eyes a burning red reflected within them. The blue should've quenched the fire, should've stopped it from coming.

Lucky for him, he stumbled once, landing so that his hands fell on top of the burning stones instead of the fire itself. A jolt unlike anything he had ever experienced coursed through his body, running from his fingertips all the way to his head in the space of a second until he felt like his brain was going to burst open.

Someone was pulling him off now, dusting him off, and crying over his hands. "PETER!" his mother was screaming. "My God, are you alright? Look at your hands, all burned up – get some water, quick!" she shouted at his father. "Lucky for you, you fell with your hands. Lift your head up, dear, let me take a look at your face…no burns, good."

_But my head is burning! It's twisting and there's a creature inside it!_

"Jane, you had better keep those boys of yours away from Peter!"

He remembers his other cousins telling him for the rest of the night that he looked like he had put on old-lady makeup. He remembers darting into the bathroom and staring at his own face, flushed and pink. His eyes were no longer the brilliant blue he thought them to be – they were now dull and lifeless. But then again, didn't everything pale in comparison to the brush with fire he had just experienced? He glanced at the back of his head, expecting to see some sort of grotesque protrusion, but it was still as flaxen and smooth as yesterday.

_How can that be? Look inside, please, someone! _

The jolt had traveled to his head and stayed there. It was a continuous pulse against his eyes; a drum beat with no actual drummer. It eventually faded and wore out. In fact, when he began Hogwarts, he had almost forgotten about it.

But it was back again now. It had suddenly reawakened and continued its relentless pounding day in and day out. It was telling him to do something – a calling – but for what?

These days, he tried to avoid the Common Room and its crackling fireplace. He no longer participated in the midnight pot roasts the others would initiate. He flinched away from the lamps of Hogwarts' halls and their every glowing fire. And he would not let himself be clumsy and trip.

Lily Evan's hair was fire personified.

So why was it that he was following her today?

Her steps were precise and slow. She trailed her hand against the walls and whispered something that he could not hear to herself. There was something written on her hands, most likely a quote from some Muggle classic she was reading to herself. She twitched her lips, biting them unconsciously. There had been one bite that had broken skin, and there was a smear of red now, standing out shockingly against her pale skin.

Peter felt an urge to wipe it off so intense and sudden that it was almost physical. He staggered, and thus gave away his position.

Lily turned around slowly and stared at him. Her body was still poised to go forward with her head turned back; it seemed to be a statement on Peter's life.

"Pettigrew."

It wasn't a statement or a question. Her voice was neither flat nor delighted. She seemed indifferent about him.

A week ago, we would've thought the same about her. But now he found himself caring, caring so much that it scared him where this was coming from.

"Your lips are bleeding."

She didn't frown or look disgusted. Her tongue darted out quickly and licked it away, clean like a vampire. "Thank you."

There seemed to be an innumerable amount of time that stretched out between the two of them now. He was acutely aware of such things like his steady breathing in and out and her watch ticking routinely. It wasn't an uncomfortable silence; on the contrary, it was frankly the most peaceful he'd been all week.

She seemed thinner these days, collarbones jutting out sharply. When she flexed her fingers, he saw bones dancing underneath the thin skin. Her ankles were thin and he was surprised they did not snap under her weight. Lily was not a large girl, especially not these days, but there seemed to be something that made her seem so much _heavier_ than she actually was.

In that moment, Peter felt that if she was tired, he would yawn for her.

Her lips parted slowly. "What are you doing."

Again, her voice was cryptic. She did not ask that as a question. She already knew what he was doing here. Either she wanted to hear him admit it himself or she was just being polite.

"I needed help," he found himself replying.

A raised eyebrow. "That could apply to a lot of things."

"Homework," he gulped out. "Muggle Studies," he adds as an afterthought. Why Muggle Studies? Why did he choose that subject? In truth, he had not even looked over the assignment yet.

"You come across someone hanging off a bridge. He started off wanting to commit suicide, but now he wants to back out. Unfortunately, he can't get up. There is no one else around." His mouth was off and running now, and he could not stop it. "Will you stop and help?"

"I don't remember that being one of the homework questions."

"It was," he insists sharply. She flinches. "It was," he says again, softer this time.

Staring into her eyes was like looking at himself all over again. He had always associated green eyes with liveliness and laughter. They should've been the thing that someone noticed first, due to their startlingly color and rarity. They shouldn't have been the first thing someone noticed for any other reasons.

Lily's eyes were blank, and they jumped out at him.

"Why," she begins with a trace of resentment in her voice, "should I help?"

Her eyes were blank, and yet like the rest of her body, they bore down a weight heavier than they first seemed. This weight seemed to have shifted and as she stared at Peter, he felt each stone drop heavily on his own shoulders. _How_, he wondered, _can something so lifeless have so much power?_

"Well, by the Muggle laws, you probably shouldn't. If you ended up dropping the person and killing them, you could be sued."

Irony dances across her face.

"I meant," she smirks, "why should I help you?"

Peter needs to remind himself that dropping his jaw would be considered impolite. Quiet, unassuming Lily Evans was _ridiculing _him. Peter, a member of the Marauders.

"I know what you're thinking," she continues. "How can I say that to someone like you? You're part of the _Marauders_, and people don't go around talking like that to them."

"No," Peter denies even though he feels his cheeks flushing. "That's not what I was thinking."

Green bores into blue. Dull challenging duller. "You needn't contradict it, Pettigrew. Everyone knows that of course the _Marauders _are subject to no rules whatsoever."

Was that sarcasm in her voice? It was flitting and quick, cleverly hidden in.

Peter blinks. "You don't think much of me, do you?" he asks, even though, like Lily, he already knows the answer.

She scoffs. "I don't think about any of you, period. You're a bunch of testosterone bundled together on legs who wouldn't be caught dead with anyone or anything that doesn't meet up to your supposedly 'high' standards."

"Oh, yeah? Then why am I here with you?"

Lily grows silent and hides behind her hair that has fallen from her clips.

"And plus," Peter's voice grows stronger, "isn't that what you're doing too?"

She looks up with her blank eyes. "You're rich, aren't you? Go pay one of those teacher's pets to play your tutor."

"Who says I'm _rich_?" Peter's voice vibrates down the hallway.

Lily rolls her eyes. "Please. Don't pull the emotional, spoiled rich-boy act on me."

"Shut up! _Shut up_!"

"Hey!" she snaps. "_You're _the one who came to _me _for help, not the other way around!"

Peter breathes in deeply, in and out, in and out. He is aware of the fact that dinner seems to be drawing to a close soon in the Great Hall, and soon the corridor would be swarming with students.

He starts over. "Would you do it?"

"Tutor you?" An incredulous look comes over Lily's face. "No way."

He waves his hands. "No. I meant, stop. At the bridge."

Her breath hitches. For the first time tonight, something else besides dullness comes into her eyes. "Yes," she finally agrees quietly. "Yes. Because even though I might get sued, helping someone out who needs it is the right thing to do, all the time."

This time, it is her eyes that search out Peter's.

He clears his throat. "Do you really believe in that?"

She looks ashamed first, then masks her face. To buy herself time, she chews on a hangnail. The reality of the situation slams into her, and she finds herself questioning how she got herself in a real conversation with Peter Pettigrew in the middle of the third floor corridor.

"Yeah. I do."

Peter locks stares with her.

"Then how," he says, "can you walk away from me?"

* * *

Heh.

Well, I guess "sorry" would be useless at this point.

Let's go on to something happier:

Thanks to **anon, Gulldara **(we really must get together, dahling), **MinorMistake99, lils03, WordsxUnspoken **(I think I'm in love with you, seriously!), **tweenyweeny, theORIGINALmeathead, Silverspinner **(who I need to find time to email back), **Stasya, Elyra'Darkwynde' Haliwell,clyana, wwc other guy, whimsical89, _and everyone else who read this and didn't burn their eyes out afterwards! _**


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